


Ripped Sticker Hearts

by BGBadWolf



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Actually I gave other folks last names too, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Injury, Car Accidents, Drunk Sex, I gave Shane a last name, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kind of a slow burn, M/M, No pets die, No porn all plot, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, This WILL end happily, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Vomit Mention, angsty fluff, one-night stand to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 58,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24751087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BGBadWolf/pseuds/BGBadWolf
Summary: Avictus Glen was a loyal Joja employee--until a job went horribly wrong and shattered his plans for the future. Trapped in corporate exile, he'd nearly given up when a letter arrived that would change his fate forever.Now struggling to build a new life in a small rural town, he's caught unprepared when a chance encounter threatens to reawaken feelings he'd sworn to keep buried. A tangle of hearts becomes a desperate beat as two men wrestle with their feelings for one another and their own inner demons--but will love save them, or destroy them?The ghosts of Glen’s past are closer than he realizes and may cost him more than he can imagine...(I finished it in time to post for Pride month! YAY Happy Pride folks!)(GUARANTEED HAPPY ENDING-- but a lot of angst along the way. THIS IS A FINISHED STORY!!!!)
Relationships: Harvey/Maru (Stardew Valley), Jas & Marnie & Shane (Stardew Valley), Jas & Vincent (Stardew Valley), Lewis/Marnie (Stardew Valley), Shane/Male Player (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	1. In The Offices

**Author's Note:**

> **Author’s notes on the story** \-- So this sprung up while I was playing, much like the weeds I was always trying to get rid of lol. A little explanation of where this story really focused might be in order. See, while playing I often would pass out in the fields or caves and be taken back by Joja employees that would take money. This, of course, I HATED and the whole thing seemed rather sinister to me, you know? So when writing this I really had that particular aspect of the game in mind and it became the inspiration for the main arc of the story. I take a **LOT** of liberties with the setting and it really just started doing its own thing at some point but I LIKE where it went so…
> 
> I also felt that with that angle in mind that Shane was the romance that would mesh best with everything. I haven’t played the game in years thanks to my best save being on an old computer that died and my lack of attention span, so while I’m aware that there have been updates and things I’ve missed-- I haven’t seen them and a lot of the story was based off what was available/what I remembered at the time with the addition of just expanding and building on some of the things that stuck in my head. I’ve actually been working on this off and on since its conception in (I think) early 2017 though it might have been earlier than that. It may not be the longest story I’ve written (though the story managed to break 50k which was a surprise!) but it certainly has taken its fair share of time (worth it!) and I hope that you enjoy it!
> 
> (If you see something that you feel needs a tag and isn't covered by one of the ones I used, feel free to speak up. I'm always happy to tag things for folks.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, here is **[A Link to the Playlist I made/listened to](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2j3XCNn8Td0NbiFeLbDEmJ?si=pVnvB3tJSoW9d2dSfwyjvw)** while writing the majority of this. (Admittedly mostly I just listened to "Thunderclouds" and "Blinding Lights" on loop lol but maybe yall will enjoy it?)

(Image rendering of Ripped sticker Hearts cover. Please do not Take or Repost. Thank you!)

* * *

Tap. Tap. Tap. Bracket. New line. Help request log-- _Hello, you’ve reached Joja customer service how may I help you today_?

Avictus Glen hung up the phone and rigidly sat in his seat staring at the screen of his terminal as his hand refused to move from the receiver. The headset he’d been issued had broken four months ago and he’d dutifully submitted a ticket to either get it repaired or replaced but… well, with Joja corp that might be another four months of waiting before he saw any progress. Of course, that could always be blamed on the war. Resources and supply lines had been unreliable since the conflict started six years ago. Until the replacement came however, he had to use the old corded model phone that I-T had dug up for him.

\--* _What was the tech’s name? Stanton? Robinson? Did it matter?_ *--

\--* _Did anything matter?_ *--

A warning chirp for inactivity beeped out to let him know that his supervisor was watching because he’d been inactive for too long. Another sixty seconds and he would be issued an actual warning. If he reached five minutes of inactivity then they would begin docking pay. Ten minutes and he’d be called in for a formal reprimand and need to fill out a debt-form for wasting company time.

But his hand wouldn’t move. There was a growing panic coupled with the need to throw up as he stared at the blinking line waiting for him to return to data input for this latest batch of item complaint logs. It was like an internal scream and he felt like the boiling steam of a kettle left too long on the stove as he stared at the line: Blink. Blink. Blink.

Double chirp. His warning sounded distant and thin as he stared at the page. Six years since he’d been downgraded to working here in the cubicles for corp instead of on the floor of a Joja store or out in the field. Almost twelve years in total of working for Joja since he’d signed on just outside of highschool.

Now… he couldn’t seem to move his hand and it would be his first official reprimand in the six years since the incident. Not a flawless record but he’d recently paid off the last of his debt from his Joja degrees and transition. Hidden in the payment slips his past mistakes were there. Yet even after he’d used up his few sick days last fall when the office flu had caught up with him-- with no regard for how much vitamin C and zinc he’d desperately guzzled-- he had still been working to ease the wrinkles of his past.

A throat cleared nearby. When Glen didn’t react, the person smacked a hand down on his shoulder and that was finally enough to pull him out of his trance. Looking up, Glen realized that it was his line supervisor, John. John was a greasy bastard with thinning blond hair slicked back, more of a spare truck than a spare tire, and a fake tan that made him look like a walking corn chip. If Glen got in trouble, then the line supervisor would get in trouble as well, so of course John had sprung into action. You could always trust these types to act in their own interest, after all.

“Now Mr. Glen,” John beamed with an air of inflated self-importance, “In the years I’ve worked with you, you’ve had a near spotless record--” while he spoke, his hand moved to tap at the new ‘special’ little gold and blue outlined nametag on Glen’s chest that helped proclaim that fact-- “besides, of course, that little hiccup we won't speak of. Why don’t you take an unpaid ten-minute break and then get back to it?”

The question was punctuated by a conspiratorial wink before John swaggered off back down the line to his observational desk. Glen watched him go before looking slowly down toward the nametag. _Mr Glen_. He even often thought of himself as Glen now instead of Avictus. Surnames were all that was used unless you were a supervisor. One more method with Joja to keep it from being too personal.

Slowly, Glen swallowed down the heat and pressure that lingered in his throat at the thought of coming back even after ten minutes. Ten minutes wasn't enough. Hell, right now he wasn't sure if ten lifetimes was enough. His hand tugged at the nametag, sticking only momentarily with the magnetic hold before it pulled away with a pop, and he set it down on the desk before standing.

Glancing at his watch, he tried to make a mental note of the time before setting off. His walk was stiff, robotic, and with every step he felt the growing urge to simply start screaming and running. Never to stop. Instead of screaming though, he quietly walked out to the stairwell and started climbing.

He could have used his card to run the elevator, but the practice of trying to pinch every little penny to pay off a dream that no longer existed was burned too deeply at this point. Not to mention that every day since being transferred off the field six years ago he'd taken this same route up to the roof. At this point, it was just a habit. Step. Step. Step. He robotted his way up the stairs to the rooftop door with the ripped rainbow heart sticker near the handle.

No one knew that he'd been the one to put the sticker there back when he first started working that building. A little bit of rebellion mixed with something to remind himself that someday it would all be worth it. But, like the sticker, he was ruined. A fading ripped version of himself and nothing seemed to matter anymore. Every year the sticker got peeled away a little more. Rubbed off at the edges. Ground into one more formless smear.

It only took one flick on the cheap lighter to get flame, but he had to cup it from the soft smoggy breeze of the city to keep it from going back out. Eventually, he puffed a roll of smoke as his steps took him to the corner occupied by an old can covered with a burn-dotted brick. Every move was methodical as he lifted the brick and the can, set the brick on the cement wall, and then the can beside it. So many years and only one employee had accidentally dropped the can off the edge of the tall building.

With the precision of its landing, however, Glen thought it had been on purpose. It had hit the old line supervisor-- * _what was his name? Marley?*_ \-- smack on the head and they’d had a week of investigation before the employee-- * _was that one Alice or Bethany?*_ \-- was escorted from the premises. She’d laughed the whole way.

“Worth it,” she’d muttered when passing his desk. He was sure anyone who’d heard would have agreed. As it was, she’d had a sea of eyes all mutely thanking her. Then jovial John stepped into the vacated position and returned the line to what Joja would consider normal.

Glen leaned onto the cement wall and looked down. If he tipped forward… would the police consider the result as a ‘formless smear’ just like the sticker that had once been a bright and rebellious little rainbow heart?

“Hey.”

The greeting had him leaning slowly back into what was considered a socially acceptable and ‘safe’ position as he looked to his left.

\--* _What was their name?*_ \--

The greeting was from the man who sat at the cubicle across from him in line two, he knew that much simply because they always wore the same three obnoxiously colored shirts that lingered in the edge of his vision day in and day out. Glen knew that sometimes in the evenings when the supervisors nodded off or snuck out early, some of the cubicles including obnoxious-shirt would open a private group chat. Glen liked to watch the conversation without actually participating. It helped the hours seem less tedious as they ticked by but he never trusted with his luck to not get caught. Not with his record. He knew people were watching him too closely as it was.

"You okay, man? You seem a little out of it today," obnoxious-shirt asked, leaning their hips on the wall and lighting their own cigarette-- some sort of fancy brand that smelled like incense and woodsmoke.

Glen flicked a thumb over his own cheap Joja brand cig, watching the ash drift and twirl away before he focused back on the thirty-seven story drop. He’d learned not to talk to people here at Joja. The most benign things could bite you in the ass and everyone was desperate for gossip and dirt. When he’d first arrived-- when the scars were still fresh wounds-- he’d been too raw and angry to try and pretend to make friends. Then as the routine formed he found he preferred it. Things had been so much _simpler_ since he’d distanced himself from others.

Lonely, but simpler.

Every night was the same. He’d bike home. Keys hung on the hook. Shoes beside the door. Same-as-always order text for the little delivery place he lived above. Light a stick of bargain brand incense in front of the pictures of his grandfather, parents, and little sister. Hop in the shower. Thirty minutes later he would be out in clean clothes and there would be a knock. They knew to just leave the delivery at the door. A tip in the electronic payment kept it that way, so when he opened the door he didn’t have to try and fake a smile. Eat alone at the small table. Water his little plant. Exercise. After that, he’d turn out all the lights and sit in the window and watch people live their lives below until he felt he could sleep. Neon lights and laughter-- his only visitor the bottles of whatever hard alcohol had been cheapest his last shopping trip.

Obnoxious-shirt's shoulder bumped his -- * _had he ever even known obnoxious-shirt’s name?*_ \-- as they reached to mash the stub of their cig against the brick before tossing it into the can with all the others. A new black smear against the faded once-upon-a-time red as they continued the one-sided conversation that he'd tuned out of, "Hey, you know Madds? From row 3? We've started a new betting pool on whether they retire or croak first. You want in?"

Glen shook his head the way he always did, trying to find the energy to stub out his cig and head back into his box like the good little dog he was. So well trained. Look at him roll over on command. Shake. Sit. Play dead.

His hand shook as he brought the cig back up to his mouth and he only distantly noticed. _Please go away_ became his silent mantra while he watched the sun struggle to peek out from the sky-rubbish gloom that covered the city. --* _Maybe it would rain tonight?_ *-- Splish splash. Pitter patter. He could sit at the window and admire the way the neon looked as it reflected on the tears from the sky. Mornings after the rain were always lovelier. For a day, the sky would seem slightly fresher and the smell of wet warm cement replaced the normal grunge.

“Oh, shit, almost forgot why I came up,” obnoxious-shirt said as he patted his pocket to bring out a tattered looking envelope with a multitude of stamps and redirect notices scribbled all over it. He held it out as he said, “This came for you. They dropped it at your desk but I figured I was coming up anyways. Anyhow-- back to the grind I go.”

Glen couldn’t get himself to wave back as he was left with nothing but the letter and a swiftly spiraling out of control feeling that wound his chest into a tight ache. By now John was probably chewing his nails and was less of the cheesy chip variety and more of the spicy kind. Maybe chili. Could chili be angry? It seemed a sad thing to attach to chilies but it made sense in a way. --* _How long had he been up there anyhow_?*-- He glanced at his watch and realized he couldn’t remember what time it had been when he’d left even though he was sure he’d looked at it before leaving his desk since that’s what he always did.

Looking over the edge once more, he started another cig. Idly he wondered what the betting pool was for him-- and he knew there had to be one by now. Probably most people thought that with how long he’d been there, he’d finally accept a supervisor position soon. Or was there a betting pool for exactly what he was considering. Twenty bucks he jumps before summer. Thirty says he holds out till fall. Maybe the really brave think he’s just a permanent fixture and bet he’ll last another year without change.

Taking another drag, he held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut. It burned. A sick tickle that itched at his throat like the roaches his apartment complex was constantly sprayed for. Yet he didn’t cough. Instead, he waited until he couldn’t hold his breath anymore and breathed out slowly, cracking his eyes and watching the rolling plumes of smoke as they drifted away.

His gaze was pulled down again and by the shake of the hand that still clutched the tattered looking letter; he knew he couldn't convince himself to go down and sit in that box anymore. No leash, treat, or whip could call this hound back.

The wall was warm on his back as he eased himself down to the ground and leaned his head back against the stone. To be honest, there was no decision as he slowly examined the fact that he was finally unable to keep going. They’d won. They’d beaten him down even as he worked his way up. Bagboy to cashier as he used the Joja college program. Respected field agent to pariah in a customer service cubicle as he paid off the now useless degree. He'd actually turned down several supervisor positions-- never having the cruelty to be what they wanted but maybe that was crueler of him? If he’d taken the position… people like John would be elsewhere and people like Glen wouldn’t be on the rooftop trying to convince themselves not to jump.

...Or would they?

Would he have become the harsh reins he'd struggled against these past few years?

Cement stone against his back and a numb feeling in his brain, Glen diverted his attention back to the envelope he'd been handed. He cracked the seal on the envelope to find that it contained a letter within it. He even recognized it-- though it had been over twenty years since he’d seen it. He’d been eleven. A small stuffed cat named Skittles clutched tight in his arms with that week’s book. When Grandpa had gotten sick, Glen had visited the hospital after school every day to read to him before the caretaker came to take him home. Then, one day, grandpa had been moved back to their home as the caretakers got rather somber. He still remembered the way the room smelled, the way the sword over the fireplace caught the light, the way Grandpa’s hand had shaken as he tried to hand over the letter but the live-in nurse quickly shooed Glen out of the room. It had been the last time he ever saw his grandfather outside of the casket-- cheeks painted a healthy color they hadn’t seen in years and a peaceful expression.

The thick paper was old. Worn but without the same stressors as the envelope. An enchantment meant the purple wax seal still looked as vibrant and bright as he remembered it, however, and the wax made a satisfying thick sound as it pulled away from the parchment. Words written in his grandfather’s shaky handwriting scrawled wistfully across the page like a jaunty walk. Little phrases jumped out at him as he read and he sucked in a breath when he reached the most important part.

A deed. Before even the car accident that took his parents, Glen’s grandfather had told him stories about the little farm for which their last name came from. He’d never known where it was, just that it was far away, and to a child ‘far away’ could be as far as the backyard or the moon.

‘Love, Grandpa’ finished off the letter and Glen could feel the burn in his eyes that was more than just too much smog exposure. Glen stared down at the words as he swallowed hard.

“Love you too grandpa,” he whispered.


	2. Five Months Later

(Image of OC Avictus Glen. Painted by B. G. Wolfe. Do not take or repost, Thank you.)

* * *

There was a rapid knock on the door and Glen was jolted out of the nap he’d somehow fallen into during patching one of his few shirts in the light of the window. The tea on the slightly-too-high-to-be-comfortable table had long ago chilled as he slept. After moving aside the tea, he carefully put everything onto the old wooden surface before struggling up from his floor cushion-- thanking whatever gods existed that he hadn’t sewn himself to his project again-- and limped over to open the door.

His neighbor, Marnie, stood shaking an umbrella while a disgruntled young man awkwardly clutched an absolutely massive picnic basket just behind her. Leaning to the side, Glen caught sight of the little girl hiding behind the apron -- * _Was her name Jess? No, wait, Jas. That was it*_ \-- as she eyed the still fairly wild farmland with a keen sort of wariness.

“Mr Glen! Wonderful, I wasn’t sure you were home. This is Jas--” she gestured to the little girl and then to the man-- “And this is my nephew Shane. May we come in?”

Glen glanced once more at the unexpected summertime downpour before nodding mutely and stepping aside. He was glad he’d hired the town's carpenter-- _*what was her name? He really should ask… It started with a ‘L’ right?*_ \-- to cut the rickety old table down so that he didn’t need chairs. Though... perhaps he should ask her to take another inch off since it was still too tall for his liking.

Everyone filed in, wet boots and all, while Jas proclaimed loudly, “It smells funny.”

Glen glanced towards the small sticks that were all that was left of that morning’s incense from prayers. One more thing that set him apart from these folks it seemed. Yet instead of hushing the young girl like most people, Marnie beamed and knelt down as she explained, “Some people like to burn incense. It can be made out of spices or flowers. You know how we like to light candles sometimes to make the house smell nice?”

Jas nodded, fingers twisting in her purple frilly dress as she looked towards the sticks and Marnie continued, “Well Mr Glen uses incense like we use candles.”

A soft hum came from Jas as Glen shut the screen door and a roll of far off thunder thrummed from outside with a fresh wave of rain. When Glen turned away from the door, intending to politely ask if anyone wanted some tea, a basket was shoved towards him from the surly man.

\--* _Shane*--_ Glen mentally corrected himself. This many months and Glen had only really learned two names beside the Mayor’s. While he was trying to make an effort to change, it was difficult to break the cycle he'd formed over the previous six years.

Marnie tutted as she took the basket instead before she swanned towards the small kitchen. “Fraid it’s no secret dear that you don’t cook and have been buying meals from Gus--” she opened his creaky cabinets without asking, poking into each one until she found his small stack of bowls and took them out with a tut before continuing-- “but between your injury-- how’s that leg feeling by the way?-- and Gus having to close because of this lovely storm messing with his building’s pipes, we thought maybe you might need a fresh meal and some company.”

Glen opened his mouth to perhaps protest or even attempt to simply thank-- his brain hadn’t decided-- but a squalling mew came from the basket and he stopped short as he looked to the source.

\--* _These people didn’t think he ate cats right?_ *--

Wouldn’t that be one for the newspapers-- Idyllic town eats pets, news after these ad pages on Joja's newest product!

Instead, Marnie tutted again and said, “Oh I hope you don’t mind cats-- Shane? Can you help me?”

Shane grunted as he moved to take something-- or several somethings as it turned out-- from the basket. Without asking, Shane tottered back over and plopped down onto Glen’s previously vacated seat cushion. Cradled in his arms were four mewling tiny sacs of squirming skin and a couple of bottles. Jas thumped over to hold out her hands for the largest one that was fussing loudly and it was soon cradled in her arms baby style as she offered it a bottle.

“Jas, honey, remember how you have to hold them-- I’m sorry Glen dear, the mum was one of our barn cats but it’s gone missing and these little ones still need regular feeding for another week or so before we can start to wean them,” Marni said as she puttered back and forth in the measly little excuse for a kitchen.

Honestly, Glen had never had a kitchen before so the little space was fine with him, yet he felt a growing embarrassment at how inadequate it must feel compared to the very large and nice kitchen he’d glimpsed on his one visit to Marnie’s ranch.

“Hey,” Shane grunted before offering up a kitten that looked more like several blobs of ugly dark wrinkled paint than a cat, “feed one before it starts crying.”

Glen limped forward, his leg still stiff in the brace that the town doctor-- _Harold?_ \-- had unceremoniously strapped to him. As Glen limped by, Shane’s eyes flicked down to the brace and back up before he asked, “What happened anyhow?”

A quiet tut came from Marnie before she glanced over her shoulder, “You don’t have to answer, Mr Glen. ...Lot of people _are_ curious though. I'm sure you understand-- small town and all.”

Glen sat-- a slow and careful maneuver with his leg stiffly outwards and the other bent awkwardly-- onto a small portion of the rug since both his only seating pillows were now taken. Once sitting, he took the cat. It felt like a wrinkly old peach with two tiny splayed paws full of needles and he fought a wince as it gripped onto his skin. Shane handed him one of the bottles and Jas scooted, still cross-legged, towards him and silently showed how she was feeding the kitten now settled in her lap.

Out of the corner of his eye, Glen eyed Shane who was in turn openly staring at him with something akin to bored hostility.

“You don’t talk much,” Shane stated before looking back down to his charges.

Glen simply dropped his gaze back to the kitten-- _*it WAS a kitten, right? Weren’t cats, even young ones, supposed to have more hair?*_ \-- and hoped that he was nursing it right. He’d had a pet when he was little, a dog named Tank, but when the accident happened… well, he'd been unconscious for most of it. There had also been a lot of moving around as things got packed and he was never really sure what had actually happened to the dog let alone a large portion of his family's stuff. So much had simply been whisked away by well-meaning ‘family friends’ and great aunts. He was never sure where it all had ended up, but he certainly never saw those so-called family members again. Not when his grandfather died and not when he finished out the last of his childhood in an orphanage.

The room went blessedly quiet as Marnie worked, smells occasionally drifting over from whatever she was doing. That is until Glen finally broke the silence once the little kitten was asleep with the two others Shane had previously had-- all peacefully curled in the nook of his bent leg. Picking up his sewing project and folding it away off to the side he said, “Cave in.”

Shane’s dark brown eyes snapped to attention from the brooding stare he’d focused at the screen door. “What?”

“Leg,” Glen said as he tried to shift while avoiding waking the batch of obviously underbaked cat-loaves on his uninjured leg, “old beams in the mines. ...got caught in a cave in.”

Jas, who'd been quietly playing with the ears of the kitten she’d fed, looked up with wide eyes as she asked, "the mines? Aren't there monsters?"

Glen stroked a finger down the little mess of a kitten that had first been handed to him. It squeaked before tucking closer to the others and he just grunted his response, “uhhuh.”

“Is it scary? Being down with the monsters in the dark?” Jas asked once more doing the cross-legged scooch to get closer to him.

Glen shook his head no. If he was honest, he sometimes felt guilty that he wasn’t scared going down there. Since the car wreck that killed his parents, he’d never been afraid of things that other kids feared. Especially not caves or darkness. Even less seemed to scare him since the day where he’d opened his grandfather’s letter. Up on that roof, it was like he’d opened up the jaws of a beast and decided that though he wasn’t going to walk down the throat just yet he’d at least stand in the mouth. Since then he’d been living in a numb world and just waiting for it to end. Or perhaps the numbness had set in before that and he just hadn’t noticed? It was hard to tell.

After all, what was fear when you had settled into simply existing?

“Well,” Marnie bustled over, setting heaping bowls of some sort of -- * _what do people call these? Pan casserole? Sad skillet mess? Toasted trash? That was rude Avi*_ \-- mixed food in front of him as she spoke, “Young lady, the mines are still forbidden so don’t you dare encourage Vincent to try going in there with you again. And as for you Glen, we’re just glad you were alright. It was a frightful sight seeing Marlon and Linus carrying you into town like that. Now, I hate to ask, but do you have forks?”

Glen glanced up and mutely shook his head. He only had the bowls and plates-- _all four and a half of them_ \-- since they’d been there when he’d moved in. However, he never ate at home so it hadn't mattered.

Marnie seemed to expect that though and hummed as she pulled some forks out of her basket before rinsing them at the sink. “I figured as much dear and I brought some of my spares for you to keep.”

“...’preciate it,” Glen said as he accepted the still damp fork offered to him.

Marnie sat with a groan on Jas’ vacated spot and dug into her own plate with a grin before asking, “And how are you adjusting dear? How’s your garden doing?”

Glen poked at the pile of green beans, peppers, squash, and… was that eggplant? It was all covered in cheese so he wasn’t terribly sure-- though he did notice the cauliflower and slowly pushed it off to the side as he said, “It’s…” he cleared his throat and tried again, “Okay. Growing. Rain should help.”

She hummed again around a mouthful of food before gesturing with her fork and saying, "Pierre mentioned he had a helpful farming tips book for you by the way. Shane or I could pick it up and bring it by tomorrow if you'd like."

Shane grunted with a small side-eyed glare towards Marnie before he said, “I have work."

Marnie hummed, her lips going thin with restrained emotion as her eyebrows popped upwards. "Then it'll be easy for you to drop by Pierre’s on your way home won't it? Saves me all the trouble of having to go over there. You know Mini is due any day now and I should be home. It's her first foal. You know I'm worried about complications."

Shane looked away, his own fork toying with the cheesy mess as he mumbled, "Fine."

Glen looked between them-- knowing there was more to the facial expressions than what they'd said. "That's not necessary..."

"Nnn!” Marnie covered her full mouth with one hand as she used the other to wave his attempt away like an unwanted fly before she swallowed and gave him a bright smile. “It's no trouble! Really! Speaking of trouble, I meant to ask when we got here but would you be interested in adopting a kitten? Maybe two?"

"I...uh... it..." Glen struggled to find or formulate an answer as he stared down and the pile of tiny flesh purr-burritos that were nestled on his lap.

Marnie waved her hand again with a light laugh as she interrupted his stumbling attempt to speak, "perhaps you might want to just help take care of them for a few days? I could make it worth your while. Fall is such a _busy_ time on the ranch and I've got my hands terribly full prepping for the autumn fair. Just think of it as someone to keep you company. It must get so lonely out here. Have you considered building a chicken coop? Shane does most of the work with the chickens and we've got plenty of chicks if you ever--"

"Mom-- Ma--" Jas interrupted, " _Momma_ \-- you're doin it again."

Marnie's sales pitch dropped as she barked a laugh. "Sorry dear. It's a bad habit. Thank you for catching me Jas. I DID say I'd try not to today, didn't I?"

Jas beamed a cheesy smile and a nod before returning her attention back to the kitten and --* _Seriously, what is this food called? Perhaps he should check the library for a recipe book. He hadn’t been very adventurous in the past when it came to food*_ \-- the cheesy mound on her plate.

Marnie took another bite before asking, “So? How is it? If you let me know what you like, I can try some different recipes. Shane said that you usually get really simple meals from Gus but that could be that he hasn’t had much stock since he refuses to shop at JoJa-- like you actually-- and is limited to only what Pierre and I can sell him.”

When Glen glanced at Shane, he saw the hint of a red blush slowly had begun to creep over the other man’s ears. One that he felt might match the similar burn he felt spreading over his own face. --* _Of course*--_ In such a small town he should have known that would mean that people picked up his habits. He’d even already gotten the stink eye from a few people when ordering alcohol and cigarettes at Pierre’s. Pity the grocer didn’t stock them normally but it was nice that he at least offered the ordering service for items from the city.

Marnie continued, oblivious to the effect her little statement had on the men, “I noticed you have a teapot, Pierre might finally start stocking some better tea brands now-- he always said he’d increase his stock if we got another tea drinker. Not sure I’ve seen this brand at Pierre’s before though…”

"I special order," Glen said, trying to shift again as his leg threatened to go numb. At another squeaking protest from the kittens nestled there, he stopped moving and resigned himself to his fate as he continued, "From the city."

Marnie hummed, picking up one of the packets from the holder on the center of the table and began looking it over as she asked, "Apricot and ginger? Is it any good?"

Glen shrugged, his expression flat. "I can make some. ...or you may take a couple packets with you."

He wasn't about to admit that both the apricot and the peach ones with ginger were his favorite out of all the types that he’d gotten. Both growing up in the orphanage and his years with Joja left the feeling that such a personal little fact could be used against him. He actually hoped that one day he might be able to grow what was needed to make his own loose leaf teas and not have to depend on folks who would gossip about what he purchased.

Marnie got up with her never-endingly cheerful smile as she whisked her and Jas' dishes away to the small sink. Her back was to him as she poked through the cupboards once more and said, "Ah well, I've been away from the ranch long enough. Should probably get back-- do you have a trash can? I'm 'fraid I can't seem to find it."

Glen rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze falling on the still mostly full plate he'd been given as he forced out an answer, "No."

He'd never intended to buy one and never needed one before this. Eating out had its advantages and he'd always bagged up whatever trash he'd made and dropped it into one of the cans on his way to the mines. Before this damnable injury, it had never been an issue...

"Ah, well I'm just going to put the leftovers in this bowl. If you have a mulch pile you can bury it and it’ll help enrich the soil a little. Just remember a mulch pile will need turning every few days-- the sunlight helps things break down a little faster and if you ever need any fertilizer--”

“Moooom,” Jas thankfully interrupted again as she flopped backward in an overly dramatic sigh. The little kitten safely cradled in the nest of her dress and crossed legs gave a mewl as it woke from the jostling. It made its wobbly bug-eyed way up to her knee. Large and violently blue eyes stared at Glen as he tried to ignore the growing numb tingle up the leg trapped by the rest of the peachfuzz-brigade.

Shane offered up his own plate to Marnie before standing and ambling for the door. “M’going. Rain stopped,” was all Shane muttered before heading out.

It was not much longer before Glen was finally left alone once more in his little house. The kittens and their little towel had all been tucked away into an old bread basket that Marnie pulled from one of the cupboards. There was a small batch of formula mixed and left in the fridge for the future and a promise to drop more off tomorrow along with the recipe to make more. One ‘can I use your bathroom mister’ later and several packets of tea given and he was finally free of the surprise guests.

A few hours later, all kittens freshly fed and sleeping, and the sun finally setting-- he sat on the still mildly damp porch steps with his injured-but-healing leg outstretched and a dusty bottle of old homebrew he’d found in the cold-cellar. Setting the bottle down beside him, he cast his glance towards his pathetic excuse for a garden. --* _Had Mayor Lewis mentioned the pitiful state of it to Pierre_?*-- Is that why the grocer had a book on tips for him or did they all just assume he’d fail? It’s not like they were _wrong_ but it stung a little. Since he’d moved there several months ago he’d been cutting down trees, rolling rocks to form a lumpy border around his garden, watering, weeding, weeding, weeding, and giving it all the damn attention he could manage when he wasn’t in the mines, but it seemed like it just... wasn’t enough.

Only one thing _was_ thriving and that was his little row of sunflowers that he hadn’t technically planted himself. The brightly colored blooms in a surprising variety of colors had taken over the grassy corner of his garden in late spring and he’d simply watered them, collected a few seeds, and spread them along the edge of the garden wall to encourage them further. They’d all grown and slowly bloomed over the summer and now stood resolutely even in the fall. There were so many of them they had even spread all the way to the decrepit little bee house he’d been trying to repair. So far he’d really only made a mess of the beehouse as it wobbled now when it was windy thanks to one of the legs being shorter than the others. At this point, he was sure he should just take the ax to it and use the result as firewood this winter-- though with all the trees he’d cleared he’d have no shortage of wood-- but he stubbornly kept trying. Just like everything else.

Leaning back against the post that held up the sagging porch roof, he took a swig of alcohol and patted his pocket for his smokes with a sigh. ‘ _Real connections with real people_ ’ --what a damn joke. Such a simple thing was harder to achieve than the scrawled letter from his grandfather suggested, but that was really all his fault. Ancestors know he was trying--least he thought he was-- but it just… was much easier said than done.

Still, he thought of the little calendar hung on his bedroom wall. Perhaps if he took an extra moment next time he was at Pierre’s maybe he might jolt down a few names and birthdays so when the next time one rolled around he might act ‘neighborly’... Oh, who was he kidding, he knew he wouldn’t, and what would he give them anyhow? A bundle of freakishly over-large sunflowers? Some dandelions he'd picked up on his way home from the mines? What a damn joke. He'd make enemies faster than friends that way if the world had taught him anything.

Closing his eyes, he took a sip from the bottle and listened to the first of the evening crickets start to chirp as the sun finally started to dip below the horizon.


	3. This Drink's on Me

(Image-- Stardew Valley Shane. Painted by B. G. Wolfe. Do not take or repost, Thank you.)

* * *

The cloth shopping bag Pierre had lent him thumped obnoxiously against Shane’s leg as he ambled down the path leading to the Glenwoods Farm. His hands were full with a covered dish that he was _fairly_ certain was Caroline’s ‘famous’ bean hotpot. With every step, he felt just a little bit more annoyed with Marnie volunteering him for this little venture so that he couldn’t hit the saloon and drink until he couldn’t see straight as was his usual. Thankfully it was Friday and he’d snagged a six-pack from work as a back-up. Of course, since it was in the bag with everything for the kittens-- bumping his leg with every step-- he’d probably have to wait a while to drink since they’d be all shook by the time he got home.

Grimacing, he shifted his grip on the dish and nudged open the old gate with his hip. It opened with a horrendous creek and a wobble that made him think it might just fall apart that minute. Honestly, how that creepy bastard ‘Mr Glen’ even stood living in this dump was beyond Shane. Shane was pretty sure that even Linus lived better than this even if the hermit didn’t ‘own’ the land he squatted on.

When the gate didn’t break, he heaved a relieved sigh and scooted past it- nudging it closed with his foot as he passed. It wobble-creaked back into place with a woodsy sigh and sagged in its frame as he backed away. Satisfied that it was ‘closed’ -- _as if you could call a latchless gate ever really closed_ \-- he turned to hike the final leg up the small hill to where the house sat.

Silhouetted by the setting sun, Shane could see that the house leaned ever so slightly in its frame much like the old gate. One more old thing nearly ready to fall apart. The steps bowed down with every step he took and he wondered when someone was going to simply fall through them and stick Glen with their medical bill. Shane also really truly hoped that it wouldn’t be him, Marnie, or Jas who that happened to. Not that he actively wished anyone-- * _besides maybe his boss*_ \-- to get hurt, but he’d be happier if it didn't happen to one of the few people he cared about.

When he got to the door, he began to realize an issue he hadn't considered. The pot was too big to try one-arming even if he wasn’t worried about the few bits of exposed ceramic burning the shit out of him. He _could_ try setting it down but then he’d have to lift it again and frankly his back felt like shit after unloading today’s pallet of worthless Joja crap. Fighting a frustrated sigh, he decided the best course of action-- assuming the door held-- was to use his foot to knock.

Balancing on one leg while holding a bunch of things is easier said than done but he was pleased when the door held to his three gentle but very solid kicks. Behind the door, he could hear the kittens begin to squall from the noise but no limp-thumpy footsteps belonging to the home’s new owner. He waited another minute before delivering another series of kicks to the door-- which to his surprise, creaked open on its own with his second kick. He stood, surprised and waiting for Mr Glen to thump into view but the other man didn’t seem to be present.

Shane edged carefully into the house. “Hello?”

When no answer came he set down the pot and looked for the kittens. They scrabbled weakly in their basket beside the bed, little mouths and eyes open wide as they screamed their demands. The hot bolt of anger twisted his stomach and knotted in his throat as he carried their basket over to the kitchen and peeked in the fridge to find that the formula had obviously not been touched since late that morning judging by the level lines in the jug.

It was stupid of Marnie to leave a bunch of babies that needed hourly care with a stranger. Yeah, she was having trouble keeping up with the feedings now that two of the cows had recently birthed twins and Mini, their horse, was due any day now. Not to mention she was being run ragged both trying to prep for the fair and going on all the local veterinary calls but…

He huffed angrily to himself as he warmed the formula, carefully testing it on a patch of sensitive skin before he poured it into the tiny little bottles Marnie had special ordered when she’d had to nurse a runt from a litter last spring. He’d just settled the last now-fed kitten back into the basket when he heard a clatter. Something metal must have hit the ground just before there was a meaty thump as something much heavier was dropped.

If it was Mr Glen, Shane had every intention of chewing him out and he got up with that in mind. Basket on his hip and harsh words on his tongue, Shane stormed out the door and stopped in his tracks as he saw Glen.

Blood matted the long black hair that was now hanging awkwardly in its bun and even the warm brown skin and slight beard Glen had couldn’t hide the beginning of a fantastic black bruise on his jaw. Glen’s sword lay on the dirt-- sticky with green and black ooze and Shane realized that the meaty thump must have been Glen falling over because he was covered in fresh dirt as he dragged himself upright to sit against the base of the stairs.

“Geezus,” Shane said, stepping out of the doorway and completely forgetting that he’d been angry only moments before as he hastily set the basket of kittens down on the porch. “What happened?”

Glen’s head tipped back and he squinted in an unfocused way at Shane before gesturing with a dirty, scraped, and blood-covered hand towards the more wooded section of the farm just past his garden and stupidly large sunflowers. “Wilderness golem.”

 _\--*Holy hell_.*--

Shane usually didn’t have any trouble with the golems down by Marnie’s. Didn’t even keep a dagger with him unless it was nightfall and even then you could usually outrun the damn things.

Mr Glen continued, “Heard a noise. It had caught a dog--” his voice pitched with a pained grunt and he shifted as if to try and find a more comfortable position with how he was sprawled over the rickety old stairs-- “went to help.”

“I’ll uh… fuck,” Shane reached out a hand and drew back when he saw the bleeding and dirt-covered massive gash on Glen’s side. His voice was more a strained whisper as he said it again, “fuck.”

Glen struggled to his feet, wobbling as he limped up the stairs-- leaning heavily on the railing-- and asked, “Can I offer you a drink?”

 _\--*A drink? This bastard was offering him a goddamn drink when he looked like he had a concussion and might bleed to death at any moment? Was the man fucking insane_?*-- Shane opened his mouth to tell Glen of course-fucking-not when Glen tipped forward. It was sheer luck that Shane caught him as Glen began to crumple. Glen gave a weak chuckle from Shane’s arms, his hand fisting for a moment on Shanes shirt as he apologized, “Ah, sorry… think I need to sit down.”

“You think? Just… hold still--” Shane set him against the wall as gently as he could manage and sprinted for the tiny bathroom.

Tiny was a generous description to the bare little closet-- _or really the entire house_ \-- but the small room at the back corner of the house somehow fit a shower, sink, and toilet nearly all on top of each other all at the expense of only barely being able to fit a person in afterward. The light clicked on with a ticking buzz as Shane looked for his target. A small stack of neatly folded but ragged towels and washcloths were stacked on the shelf above the toilet and he grabbed most of the stack in a rush. As an afterthought, he pulled one of the washcloths from the rumpled bundle and wet it in the sink before running back.

Glen was still slumped against the wall, a bright bruise to the corner of his mouth and a sad smile that tilted the bruise up into his cheek as he looked over the kittens in that basket that he must have pulled over while Shane was gone.

Shane knelt near him, suddenly a little unsure of where to start as he held the dripping cloth in his hand and stared at the other man. He also, very suddenly, felt really truly unreasonably angry.

“Why do you keep doing this?” He demanded with a wave at Glen's wounds as a bead of water began to drip down his arm.

Mr Glen blinked in that same dazed way as he looked towards Shane-- * _he should probably call Harvey. No doubt Mr Glen needed a doctor*_ \-- before Glen said, “accidents happen.”

It was so fucking stupid and simple and just… Shane got it and he hated that he did as the anger drained away. Leaning forward, he dabbed at the blood crusted to the side of Glen's face-- * _how long had Glen been struggling to get home? This blood was dried*_ \-- and wondered if his beer was a high enough alcohol content to sterilize the wound or if that would be a poor damn decision. Shit, he couldn't even remember any of the first aid stuff he'd learned in school or from the Joja corp training course.

Mr Glen, now seemingly content that the kittens were okay, seemed more intent on trying to reach something from the edge of the porch with his good leg. Shane huffed and leaned over to grab whatever it was and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was a half-full bottle of old Stardew Valley Moonshine as the label proudly proclaimed. He wordlessly handed it to Glen--* _hoping perhaps the man might share once all this was over because goddamn did he need a stiff drink now_.*-- Glen flicked off the lid and took a healthy swig before-- to Shane’s relief-- offering Shane the bottle.

Shane stared at it for only a short beat before accepting. Glen flicked a dirty hand towards the house, “I can wash on my own. But--uh, would you mind remaining? I have a concussion. Need to stay conscious for a few hours.”

 _\--*Thank you so fucking much for at least not asking me to watch you shower*--_ Shane thought as he clutched the bottle and nodded. All the while he was trying very very hard not to picture what Mr Glen looked like with his shirt off. --* _Was he soft and city-boy pretty or as rugged and hard cut as the stubble that permanently seemed to stain Glen’s jaw since he moved in?*--_

Glen struggled to his feet, grabbing a towel as he limped past the chest at the end of the bed that was tucked into the corner. A few moments later he emerged from the bathroom again-- _*fuck he was shirtless*_ \-- and grabbed a little stool that had stood like a bedside table near the pristine bed. As it tipped, something rolled off the stool and Glen watched it roll towards Shane. It came to a stop near Shane and Mr Glen stood there like an impassive statue for a hair longer than was comfortable before simply turning abruptly and limping off back towards the bathroom.

After taking a goddamn healthy and rather generous swig from the bottle-- * _holy hell this brew was strong*_ \-- Shane leaned over and picked up the item. It was a ring. He vaguely remembered maybe seeing it or one of the many others on a chain around Glen’s neck a few times in the saloon. It would catch the light and reflect it towards where Shane usually sat. He would --begrudgingly-- admit that he liked to watch Glen when he came in but he also knew he wasn’t the only one. If nothing else, Glen was good eye candy. The sharp nose, crisp jawline, and piercing eyes-- combined with the deep brown skin and lean muscular arms, Shane was fairly certain sure that if you saw the mysterious ‘Mr Glen’ on a naughty calendar or the cover of a magazine it wouldn’t be too out of place. At least not as out of place as he seemed here in this backwoods town. Course, it seemed like a lot of city folk were like that though the town didn't get a lot of tourism. When they did, the people who visited always had their hair done, their clothes absurdly clean, and a walk that usually meant they thought their shit smelled of roses.

Shane sat staring at the ring and swigging from the bottle as he wondered what its importance was while also desperately trying to calm down from the frantic ‘I don’t know what to do’ panic he’d felt. Intent on admiring the small lines of unreadable text along the band, he barely registered the sound of the water pattering in the room nearby.

 _\--*Don’t think about him naked or how low the tattoo you saw on his chest must go*--_ his brain chanted and he covered a slightly drunk giggle with a cough before slowly realizing that it had been ‘awhile’ since Glen had gotten in the shower. Shane got up, stumbling ever so slightly as the brew had been a hair stronger than his weak beer gut was used to, and headed for the bathroom.

The door, of course, was open. Glen was sitting with his splinted leg awkwardly jutting out-- a feat since he was already tall enough to make the stool he was sitting on look awkward-- as he tried to comb out his stupidly long hair while the old shower head pattered water onto his back. Shane hadn’t previously realized how damn LONG Glen’s hair was until now since Glen usually kept it in a tight bun that was as neat and tucked away as the rest of him. A towel was draped over Glen’s lap-- blocking Shane’s view of anything truly inappropriate-- and Shane eyed the whole soggy package with the slightly drunk wishful thought that maybe Glen liked guys.

Now that the dirt was washed away, the wounds didn’t look quite so bad. There was just the nasty gash on Glen’s waist, some scratches on his arm and shoulder and a smattering of nasty bruises from where the golem must have gotten in a few good swings. That plus a little cut on his forehead-- it wasn’t nearly as bad as when Glen was dragged into the local clinic soaking wet and covered in bloody wounds only a week or so ago.

Realizing that he was staring and that he needed to say something to Glen, Shane gestured over his shoulder and said, “I brought dinner. And beer.” --* _Not really what he’d intended to say but ‘ooookay’*_ \-- He took a deep breath before pressing on, “Need any help?”

Glen chuckled. A low sound that echoed in the little room but held about as much mirth as a funeral as Glen shook his head. Shane tucked his hands into his jacket as he nodded and backed away.

“Actually,” Glen called as the water shut off, making Shane stop as his heart did an awkward little double-tap in his throat. “Would you go out to the cellar? Grab a cold pack for me and another bottle. ...key is beside the door. Take the sword. Sometimes things get in.”

“Uh, sure,” Shane said as his eyes hunted for the key and tried not to think on how that might have been the most he’d ever heard Glen speak in one string. To anyone, actually.

He found the key just where Glen said it was. It hung, a big fat brassy chunk of metal beneath a dusty preservation box with the remains of a butterfly. When he grabbed the key he was a little surprised to find that it was icy to the touch compared to the warm end-of-summer air that drifted in through the still-open door. He unhooked the screen door and slid it closed once he stepped out-- one of Robin’s recent designs no doubt and the only ‘updated’ part of the house as far as he could see-- and looked for the sword. It lay in the dirt, still covered in grime and Shane grimaced as he hefted it.

The gravel crunched as the afternoon crickets began to announce the time just as he reached the cellar door. It was set into the cliffside just behind the garden. Giant hinges and peeling white paint. As he unlocked the frankly ridiculously large lock, he wondered how one cleaned swords. If he dunked it in the nearby pond would it do more harm than the already caking mess? Would it be bad for the pond? Since he’d never had to fight a golem so much as scare them he wasn’t sure he knew.

Shane pushed the thoughts aside-- * _not like it was **his** sword and he didn’t really KNOW the guy well enough to ‘polish his sword’ … even if he’d like to*_\-- and headed down into the cellar. The air went from warm to almost uncomfortably chilly mid-winter temps surprisingly quickly as he made his way down the unevenly spaced wooden steps. A little modern light with its wire running back up towards the entrance flickered on as he reached the bottom. He could instantly see why the room was so cold as he spotted one of the mysterious ice structures from the underground mines that jutted from the wall on the far side turning the room into a large freezer. Likely that meant there was a colony of frost jellies on the other side-- a lucky circumstance-- which meant Mr Glen would never need to buy a fridge as long as the colony stayed in place.

There had been an obvious attempt to organize the cellar-- possibly recently-- and he eyed the handwritten little labels that were over most of the shelves. One of those labels proclaimed ‘coldpacks for transport’ and Shane grabbed one. It was soft-- made from the remains of a wayward frost jelly no doubt-- and he turned in search of the next object that had been requested. The bottles were on a modified wine rack. The glass on the bottles was dusty from age and the shelf had no real labels besides the wrinkled ones stuck to the old glass.

Shivering, he made his way back up the stairs, unsure how to turn off the light until it flicked off on its own when he reached the top. He was left wondering how it worked as he locked the cellar door once more. When he returned to the house, he left the sword propped just outside the door before he entered to find Mr Glen now stood unsteadily at the counter of the small kitchen.

“Tea?” Glen asked without turning.

“Uh…” Shane wanted to say no but now that evening was falling and he’d been in that damn freezer he actually wanted a warm drink, “Sure. … you should probably sit down though...”

That same humorless-- _dead inside_ \-- laugh rolled out like a programmed response as Glen shifted his weight so that his hips were leaning into the counter. Shane watched as Glen hooked nimble thin fingers through the loops of two rather ugly little cups that looked like they were made by a young child just learning pottery.

\--* _Not like Shane thought he could do better but that didn’t change the fact that he thought they were ugly as sin.*_ \--

With cups in one hand, Glen limped to the table while his scraped-up hand held a matching and similarly ugly teapot over and set it all down beside the small sugar bowl -- _thankfully not matching but well sealed_ \-- and little tin tea container.

Shane busied himself with deciding between the green-colored tea packet and the yellow. Green won since it was his favorite color and both flavors sounded… well… like tea. It was an effort not to simply stare as Glen levered himself slowly to the floor with about as much grace as a plank of dry wood.

As a rule, Shane hated people. He hated his boss. He hated the people who shopped at his work. He hated every little busybody in this gods-damned town and he definitely hated himself. Maybe the only person who he didn’t truly hate-- at least not all the time though she certainly had her moments-- was Marnie. He definitely didn’t hate Jas but he also considered his little cousin and goddaughter to be about as close to the real thing as he’d ever get and he doted on her with reckless abandon. The little shit knew it. She also was definitely a little shit. Sometimes.

So, of course, it came with a little surprise when he started to realize that though they had only really just met-- _at least officially_ \-- he did not think he hated Glen. It was more like a mild dislike. Perhaps some of his opinions were influenced by the fact that Glen had always been nice to Jas-- even silently getting her trapped kite down from a tree once. Or... perhaps it was for the more shallow reason that the elusive Mr Glen was nice to look at.

To his amusement, Glen poured the dregs of the old liquor bottle into the teacup and downed it before actually pouring himself some tea. His dark eyes flicked up to glance at Shane-- * _perhaps silently wondering if Shane judged him for doing it*_ \-- before darting away again and they were left in awkward silence.

Shane gestured at the pot of food he’d left on the end of the table when he’d first come in. Unsure of what to really say, he blurted, “They’re taking bets.”

Those dark eyes came up briefly. “Bets.”

Shane hummed with a nod-- _even though it hadn’t seemed like Glen asked a question_ \-- before he began dusting off the bottle from the cellar on his shirt and opening it. He silently thanked whatever gods there were that it was a reusable lock top and not something like a cork-- and took a swig to calm his nerves. He usually avoided situations that left him alone with people he found even remotely attractive. In fact, he had very studiously avoided doing more than staring at Glen since the man moved in just because of that. Only because of Marnie’s meddling was he here at all.

Of course, now that he wasn’t able to avoid him, there was a buzz of alcohol rattling in his head, and he’d actually been asked to stay… well, the urge to babble was stronger than his ability to stop it, so he nervously continued with a shrug, “I think I caught some of it. Caroline bought eggs this morning and Marnie mentioned she didn’t know what you liked but she thought you weren’t eating enough since being injured. Everyone already knows you don’t seem to cook. By the time I got off work everyone in town was betting on which or their dishes you’d like and fighting over who could send you something first. Under the pretense of making sure you were eating while Gus’ is closed for the pipe-work, of course.”

“Hm.”

It wasn’t much of a response.

“So… what made you want to move out here?” Shane asked, trying to fill the uncomfortable chasm of silence that kept opening up-- unlike the hole he kept wishing would appear beneath him.

Glen slowly pulled the bottle towards himself. The light captured and reflected off a few liquid bandages already slicked over the wounds that Shane could see --* _How had Glen done that so quickly?_ _Shane hadn’t been in the cold-cellar for that long… had he?*_ \-- as he tipped the bottle to his lips took a long chug. Shane watched as the man’s adam's apple bobbed, once, twice, three times before Glen finally lowered the bottle. Maybe Glen needed alcohol to start talking the same way Shane did? Or maybe… maybe he regretted asking Shane to stay because of the concussion and was now desperately trying to drink himself under the table so that he didn’t have to deal with it.

“You don’t want that answer,” Glen finally answered, his voice rough and low as the first frog gave a croak now that evening had truly fallen. Gesturing with his hand towards the pot, Glen asked, “you hungry?”

Shane shrugged, “Not right now. I’ll head home for dinner. Don’t want to be in your hair for too long.”

 _\--*And damn was Glen’s hair long*--_ Shane thought idly as he toyed with his teacup.

Glen pushed up from the ground wobbling and having to brace himself on the wall before he asked, "you smoke?"

Shane blinked in surprise. It was asked so casually. --* _Did this Mr Glen know his secret?*--_ Shane had always been careful with his smoke breaks at work, hiding behind the crates outside so that no one could see him. Sometimes it was the only thing-- _aside from those rare days that he had to chug a beer on his lunch break_ \-- that helped him manage to get through the day at work. Still, it was a closely guarded secret that he'd-- to his knowledge-- successfully hid for years now from the majority of the town. At least he’d hid it from everyone but Pam who was the only other smoker in town. Not that he’d wanted her to know but she’d somehow known regardless and now he tossed her a beer once a week as a bribe to not blab.

Glen, it seemed, didn't know. His question had been genuine and Shane began to realize that as the man lipped a cig from a small metal container and said, "ah, guess not. Well, if you want to join me on the porch for a smoke and a drink..."

The question was left open-ended as Glen tottered out the door and slumped down on the steps. From behind, Shane could see the thick fishtail braid-- _one of the few braids he recognized since it had been Jas' favorite before she demanded to have her hair cut into a bob that would match Maru's_ \-- that Glen had woven his damp hair into in that same short time that Shane had been gone fetching the items from the cold cellar. Getting up with about the same grace as the injured and limping Glen, Shane snagged both the beer and the bottle of moonshine. He gave a silent prayer that the two would mix well because if they didn't... well, he had been planning for a hangover tomorrow anyhow since it was his day off.

He settled down onto the wood that was still warm from the sun and pulled out his own cigs that had been hidden away in an old playing card box that he kept in his lower pocket. Once lit, he offered Glen a beer who accepted with a silent nod of his head.

"Marnie and Jas don't know I smoke," Shane mumbled around his cig, "do me a favor and don't tell 'em."

One silent bob of his head, Glen nodded again. At least, Shane hoped he'd nodded. He could have very well been watching a nearby frog but that was a worry that Shane tucked away to keep him up with anxiety on another night.

Taking a swig of his beer, Shane set to watching Glen out of the corner of his eye. --* _Just making sure he doesn't pass out or something_ *-- he rationalized to himself before also noticing that Glen tended to blow his smoke through clenched teeth and it was, well, kind of attractive in a stupid way... --* _dammit*--_

Shane glanced away, hating his mind just that much more as he tried not to cave and think about how Glen's lips looked when he sipped from the bottle.

~

* * *

~

Glen woke to a hand on his stomach and breath in his ear that definitely wasn't his. There were only vague memories of the previous night and an ' _I should feel guilty for taking advantage of someone so damn drunk_ ' feeling already sitting heavy in his stomach.

Or was that the food?

He eased gingerly out of his small bed and limped over to the kitchen. He was sore from the fight with the golem and his night with Shane. The kind of sore he'd relished when he'd worked the field pulling jobs for the company-- and the kind of sore that he'd begun to enjoy again from spending time in the mines. Perhaps throwing himself recklessly into fights and now casual sex wasn't healthy in the long run but in the short term, it helped him feel more... alive. At the moment it just meant he was incredibly sore.

The kitchen was in what he would consider a state of disarray. Beer bottles dotted the small counter and dishes were left in the sink from that evening. Shaking his head, he forced himself to ignore it all as he set to heating water for coffee and some formula for the kittens. The pre-made formula that Marnie had given was starting to run low and he hoped that he wouldn’t have to walk down to Marnie's to get more. Even if he enjoyed being sore, he didn't want to push himself too far. Yesterday had definitely been what he would consider ‘too far’ and more of a close call than he wanted to admit.

A few questions lingered in his mind but the utmost was-- _how long had he lay on the ground before he could clutch enough consciousness to drag himself back to the house_?

Too long.

There had been a moment, laying there on the forest floor and feeling the cold embrace of the ground as pine needles and leaves tickled at his skin as he tried to stay conscious. Above him had been the golem -- _wounded but not dead_ \-- and in that moment he'd thought ' _this is finally it_ '. It had been the second time in only a few weeks where he'd been staring death in the face; both times with surprising literalness. If it wasn't for the dog coming back... well... perhaps it _would_ have been the end for him this time. A nasty death of being slowly eaten alive by the meat-eating monster that had lurked in the darkest corner of his farm likely since well before even his grandfather was a child. He couldn’t begrudge the monster that though. Not really.

He shook away the thoughts with a little involuntary shift of his head as he spooned some instant coffee into a cup. As it dissolved, he did his morning prayer at his shrine before he carefully carried the kittens, their filled formula bottles, and his coffee out to the porch. Outside, the world was still a soft grey-blue since the sun hadn't broken the top of the far ridge and he settled onto the stairs with a sigh as he slipped one of the many special enchanted rings off his finger and held it up to the skyline.

Another peaceful day-- the blue haze showed through the ring still.

As he lowered the ring and put it back on, he noticed that once more at the edge of the treeline was one of the dogs. Specifically, the larger one that had been fighting the wilderness golem, It was a beast of a thing. Big boxy head and short pitch colored fur that was covered with scars. He'd spotted it and another dog a few days after moving in and over the months he'd slowly made peace with this one-- leaving some water in a bucket near the treeline and the occasional spot of food. A once-in-a-while spotting of the black dog had turned into a morning ritual and he greeted the dog-- _who at the moment was the closest thing to a friend that he'd made_ \-- with a nod before setting to feeding the kittens.

Once they were fed, Glen put a thin towel over the basket to make sure the kittens stayed warm as he leaned back, coffee in hand as he relaxed against the wall, and he pondered what to do with his day. He could try working the garden, of course, but at this point he was sure he was doing it all more harm than good. He'd even accidentally dug up a few sad looking carrots the previous morning because he'd mistaken them for weeds.

Perhaps he'd work on the wall instead…

~

* * *

~

Shane woke up-- head throbbing, stomach rebelling, and a piss-taking sorely needed. However, when he tried to roll out of his bed, he smacked into a wall that very much should not have been there. With a groan, he cracked open his eyes and looked around.

 _This was not his room_.

In fact, for a very disorienting moment, he didn't even know where he was until the faint and blurry memories of the previous night hit like the threatening quivers to his gut. With another pitiful groan, he dragged a hand down his face and tried to find the will to sit up without vomiting on himself and the bed that definitely wasn't his.

Once up, he made his way with aching slowness to the small broom closet of a bathroom. Door closed and sitting on the toilet, he was too hungover to even really care that his knees nearly touched the wall as he tried to remember the previous night. Judging by the lack of clothes, the fact that he’d woken in Glen's bed, and the hickies he could see on his neck from the view the mirror nearby offered... well, he could guess at some of it even though it was all mostly just a black-out gap in his memory.

Piss taken, face washed, and apology mentally formed, Shane slunk out of the bathroom in nothing but his boxers. There was no Glen to be found but on the counter was a neatly set up arrangement of items-- _included his neatly folded clothes_ \-- and a note.

~ _tea in the tin_. _coffee is instant. I am outside if you require me._

It wasn't signed and everything about it-- _even the lettering_ \-- seemed stiff and formal. Of course, that seemed to be Mr Glen's personality. _Formal up until the point of Shane straddling his lap on the stairs, Glen's hand on his cock and tongue in his mouth_ \-- Shane pulled himself back down to reality. They'd been drunk and he couldn't really remember anything besides the blurry and impulsive kiss that he was _sure_ had gone farther but only because he'd been solidly smashed by his third beer and was too drunk to have held back. Still, he had a lingering memory of Glen’s rough hands gripping his hips in a way that even now sent a shudder of desire through him.

Trying not to think about the night, he looked over the items on the counter. The spoon was set, even and straight, besides the neatly placed instant coffee container and cup. All handles to the left and sugar was in a small covered bowl off to the side with its own spoon beside it. The electric kettle was set to 'keep warm' nearby. It was all serial killer clean as Robin had joked tipsily at the bar the evening after driving Glen home just after his accident. Then again... no one really knew anything about Mr Glen besides the fact that he moved there from 'the city' though they weren't even sure which city that was. Hell, no one even knew the man’s first name. Even Robin and the Mayor didn’t seem to know since he'd simply shown up with the deed to the abandoned property south of Marnie's out of the blue. Everyone was being nice, but Shane had also heard the other rumors that were whispered around town. Glen's obsession with delving into the old mines and fighting the monsters there had only cemented the idea for most of the townsfolk that he was some sort of crazy killer or retired assassin. Maybe it was just a silly rumor...

 _Or maybe it was true_?

After all, who else would willingly enter the woods to fight a wilderness golem? By the dark color of the blood-sap that Shane had seen on the sword it had to be one of the ancient dangerous ones that people normally avoided or burned out of the area with fire instead of taking alone and head on while already wounded.

Shane stared down at the black coffee lost in thought when a sound clashed from outside pounding his head and pulling his attention up from his own partly made drink. He dumped another spoonful of sugar in, picked up his cup, and clutched it in his hands as he slumped out to see what the noise had been. Outside was Glen. He didn’t seem to be impeded by the new wounds. As Glen was shirtless, Shane could see the tattoo that spanned most of his chest. The twisting water-lily flower started just above the scars at his pecs and swirled downward in vines that seemed to stop just above his navel. Shane could also see that Glen’s back was just an expanse of brown skin, lean muscles, and more faint scars as Glen raised a large hammer once more and slammed it down on the boulder. The sound was painful enough that Shane winced, sloshing some of the coffee onto his hand as he cringed.

Glen didn't seem to notice Shane there as he set down the hammer and examined the now broken boulder. Satisfied with whatever he'd done, Glen rolled the wheel-shaped stone-- slow and steady despite his stiff-legged limp-- over to a section of the rock wall that surrounded his garden. Stone in place, Glen dragged over a bucket and used a trowel to smear a pale mud over and around the stone. Once finished, Glen dragged over another bucket and pulled from it small gems and colored stones-- likely from the mines-- and placed them in the drying mud to form a colorful mosaic. Shane's eyes wandered from Glen's sweat-slicked back to the rest of the wall as he realized that most of it had lovely shapes made of stones-- normal and gem-- worked throughout it in abstract patterns. Guilt crept up, ugly and dark like the coffee he was drinking, as he remembered how he'd been mentally tossing about the idea that Glen was some sort of psycho killer from the city. How he could think so poorly of someone who made something... well, so gods damned beautiful?

It wasn't just the aspect of how lovely it was that impressed Shane. No, it was the realization that Glen simply placed a great deal of effort and care into every action even if the end result-- like his garden-- wasn’t particularly good. The wall was built slowly, every boulder was broken and positioned before the gems were placed 'just so'. The morning choices for a drink had been laid out for him with the thought to leave a note and the water warm. The kittens, eyes open and legs shaky as they wandered, had been set into a makeshift pen nearby with a towel over their basket to keep their sleeping area heated even though the late summer morning was quickly warming up itself. Hell, Glen had supposedly risked life and limb for a stray dog the previous day.

What he'd mistaken for stiff and formal Shane was now starting to think might actually be overly considerate, and damn it all if that didn't just make his stupid crush grow that much more. He decided to announce his presence and blurted, "Looks nice. The wall, I mean."

 _\--*Of course he'd know it was the wall idiot_ *-- he mentally chastised as he took a drink to hide his embarrassment.

Glen placed a final gem and stood while dusting his hands. When his thin golden-brown eyes looked over Shane, the usual silence felt only mildly less threatening between them as Shane reminded himself that it was probably Mr Glen just thinking on what to say. Eventually, Glen turned away, arms crossing as he looked over the wall and nodded somberly as he viewed his own work.

"Those from the mine?" Shane asked, fidgeting with his cup and feeling more than a little nauseous.

Glen nodded again, arms crossing as he leaned on the dry section of the wall to take the weight off his leg. "There are many things in the mines."

Shane tried to take another sip of his coffee-- * _even feeling nauseous, it was better than doing nothing*_ \-- and then said, "Uhm... about last night..."

He panicked at the way Glen stiffened. It was so minuscule but he couldn't help but think about how even if everything the man did was because he was meticulous... well, he could probably bury many pieces of Shane's body just as meticulously...

 _\--*Oh god, I really AM a horrible person_ *-- Shane thought miserably as Glen turned his face away and his carefully neutral voice said, "disregard it. I apologize for--"

"It's fine," Shane cut him off hastily. Though he wasn’t sure what Glen was going to say, he’d been rejected often enough that he couldn’t bear to hear it again. "It's-- if you aren't against-- I mean-- Shit. Listen, I don't normally share beer with people--" _where are you going with this, mouth?_ he thought as he continued-- "but if you ever want to share a beer again in the future I'm-- it's... I’m not sure I remember a whole lot of last night but I think I had fun. Just, you know, sorry for passing out in your bed. I was, uh, suuuper drunk last night."

 _\--*Great gravy that was awkward_ *-- Though, of course, it was no more awkward than the way Glen wouldn't look at him now or the thought that Glen might very well remember and have even been apologizing for... _for what?_ Now he started to wish he hadn't cut him off. Had they even actually had sex? Or had he been about to call it a drunken mistake like Shane assumed? Was there more to it or less? Shit, what about the ring he'd seen fall off the stool? Was Glen married or a widower? _Shit, shit, shit_. Shane's thoughts became a panicked mess until Glen cast him a single glance, and he found himself locked into those intense brown eyes.

Glen’s voice was that same quiet roughness that he seemed to get when nearing a hint of emotion as he said, "You are welcome to visit."

It wasn't a no. It wasn't really a solid yes either but thank god it wasn't a no. It was also-- _Shane began to realize_ \-- the first time he'd ever heard of anyone being welcome on Glen's farm. Usually, people just wandered in-- _much like they would with anyone else in town_ \-- and afterward spoke about how stiff Mr Glen had been towards them. Though Mr Glen never turned anyone away, he also never welcomed them besides the formalities of offering a drink.

Shane couldn't help the small grin as he looked down at his coffee and felt something that he hadn't felt in a long time. Hope. He actually chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck and said, "Thanks."

Glen nodded, his eyes staring off into the forest as he pushed off the wall and limped over to a half nibbled dish of food nearby. Shane noted that it had a small serving of the casserole from last night-- _something that was definitely not Shane’s favorite dish_ \-- and watched and Glen carried it with aching slowness to where the trees began. In the darkness, he spotted a shape nearly as tall as himself. It made the hairs on his arms stand on end and a bolt of fear zap his stomach as Glen set the bowl down and turned away.

Should he call out? Surely Glen knew whatever it was-- bear maybe?-- was there since he'd but the bowl nearby. Shane gripped the cup, his knuckles white as he mentally prepared himself to run over there and try to drag Glen away from whatever it was and then... the beast stepped out.

It was a dog.

Maybe.

The thing was huge. Long gangly limbs stretched up to a massive scar-dotted body with a boxy head, beady brown eyes, and pointed upright ears. It looked like some sort of abominable hellbeast but he remembered Glen mentioning having gone to save a dog from the wilderness golem the day before. Was this that dog? Was Glen actually such a damn softy that he was feeding this creature as if it was some simple stray mutt and not an obviously mutated dog-monster?

Glen returned to leaning on the wall, his hips against the stone, as he stared at the dog who was desperately gobbling the offering as Glen said, "I've decided to call him Duke."

Shane, who'd been taking a rather unfortunately timed sip of his coffee, snorted. It burned, making his eyes water and his stomach did another threatening clench as he choked out, "Duke?"

 _He named it?_ _He's.... he's perfect_ , Shane thought as his crush grew another aching heartbeat and he fervently hoped that when it was inevitably and brutally crushed it wouldn't hurt TOO badly.

With a little shrug, Glen said, "My grandfather's favorite book for me to read aloud as his eyes were failing were stories about the Duke of Glenwoods. A story about a wounded hunter saved from death by a fairy dog that turned him into a massive black hound. The hound lived in the woods and protected the nearby towns for so long that all the villagers started calling him the Duke of the forest. He does seem like the ruler of these woods to some degree. I believe it fits."

It was surprisingly sentimental... Shane remembered his own mother had loved stories and songs about fairy dogs. She'd even read a similar story to him when he was young. He'd always wanted to be the hunter from the story-- at least until his parent's deaths.

Shane nodded, swallowing down whatever his mind wanted to throw at him as he finished off his cup. His voice, thank god, did not pitch as he gave an awkward laugh and said, "Thanks for the coffee. I'm gonna... uhm... head home. Sleep off this hangover."

Glen simply nodded, "Be well."

Shane wondered if that was how Glen said goodbye to Marnie and Jas the other day. He'd left early so he didn't know, and now the thought-- along with many others-- followed him as he trudged along the faintly stone-laid path home.


	4. In The Dark

(Image of Stardew Valley Jas. Painted by B. G. Wolfe. Do not take or repost, Thank you.)

* * *

Glen had watched Shane go. The faded jacket trundling out of view and the farm suddenly feeling far too quiet for his liking. He looked towards the dog, Duke, who now lay beside the empty dish as if begging for more as his dark eyes watched Glen and his ears swiveled to and fro.

Glen squatted awkwardly-- his leg unable to bend because of the splint-- and stared back at the dog. "Still hungry?"

There was a slow thump. One wag of the tail as Duke's ears perked and Glen chuckled. "I'm glad _you_ like it."

He really, _really_ was because although he wasn't what he would consider _picky_ something in this dish made his stomach squirm. Though, that could have been the slight hangover he was dedicated to ignoring. Either way, he didn't care for it. The beans were hard, the flavor was... different, and worst of all it had noodles. --*And did he taste honey? Just… no.*-- He'd tried to stomach a few bites but all of it threatened to not stay down if he ate much more and he was glad that at least the dog wanted it.

After refilling the plate for Duke, feeding the kittens, and getting himself a cup of tea to chase away the last of the morning, Glen whiled away the last of the day working on the wall in small bouts until he was both out of energy and out of easily gathered materials. This project seemed to be going better than the beehouse at least. The longer he worked on it the better he got things to look. It was something he could feel a little proud of and Shane’s praise of the wall left a warm feeling even after the sun set behind the hills.

That evening felt lonelier than usual as the clouds began rolling in from off the ocean bringing with them the smell of sea air and thunder. He didn't see Shane again the next day. Instead, it was Marnie with a basket of all the items needed to make more formula for the kittens-- goats milk, eggs, and whatever else-- as well as instructions on how to prepare it. She left with a hasty wave as she trotted back down the path back to her ranch.

Time marched forward, each day feeling slightly more lonely than the last. The night he’d spent with Shane seemed to linger unusually in his mind even though the other man’s attitude had returned to silent and surly. They passed each other once in the clinic on Glen’s monthly visit to pick up his testosterone. Another time was in front of Pierres-- both only glancing at each other in acknowledgment but never exchanging words.

It was a chilly drizzling afternoon when Glen was sitting on the porch with the cane the doctor had forced on him when they'd taken the splint off the previous day. While the splint had been replaced with a brace he'd taken advantage of the cane and tied some string to the end of it. He was was playing with the kittens-- * _who had clawed their way into his life quite firmly thank you*_ \-- when Marnie came trotting up the path.

"Glen?" She called ‘leaving off the ‘mister’ the way so many people seemed to nowadays as she sprinted the last of the way and set down a basket once she was under the shelter of the somewhat leaky porch roof.

He stared up at her as she looked through the open doorway into his house and asked, "I'm sorry dear, but I was hoping Shane was with you. Is he here by any chance?"

Glen slipped the toy string from his cane and tossed it inside. The kittens thundered after it and he shut the door behind them as he answered, "He is not. ...when was he last seen?"

Marnie wrung her hands, glancing off into the forest, "I saw him last... last... I think it was Friday morning?"

It was Monday.

Grabbing his sword from beside the door, he slid the leather strap over his head and headed down the stairs at a brisk limp. "I will check the woods."

"Do you think he'd go in there?" Marni asked, trotting to catch up with him as he limped briskly with his cane, "He normally avoids it... except when he gets drunk... I'll be the first to admit my nephew doesn't make the best decisions when he gets drunk..."

 _Yes_ , Glen thought wryly as he stepped over a fallen log from the last storm, _he does things like drunkenly sleep with strangers and then regrets it_. Instead of voicing that bitter opinion, he asked, "Where else have you checked?"

"I... well, I checked the barn and the saloon but I thought maybe he stayed here. Again..."

Ah, so she knew about that night. Had Shane told her? Or perhaps had she come up to deliver the formula that night and saw them on the steps? Maybe she just guessed?

It had been brazen to act like cats in heat in the moonlight but it _was_ his property… still, he had to wonder-- _how many others knew?_ The rumor mill in this small town was fierce enough that if Marnie knew and told someone, well, then everyone in town knew. That could explain some of the ire Shane seemed to harbor if he’d gotten grief from the townsfolk about a one night stand.

Glen paused and glanced back at Marnie as she struggled to catch up with him. While the middle aged rancher didn’t seem used to traveling into the more forested parts, she seemed determined to come along. When she caught up she made eye contact before looking away as she began to wring her hands again and said, "I'm sorry. He's been rather lonely since his ex. I was hoping you two would hit it off and I, uh... well--"

A bark interrupted her. Glen held up a hand to stop whatever more she was going to say as he listened intently. Another demanding deep bark sounded through the trees and Glen drew his sword. "Remain behind me."

They came to a little clearing where Duke was growling at a shade who was holding something high in the tree it had hidden in. The relationship with the dog had improved quickly since he'd rescued it from the golem and he now shared food with it regularly. Lately, Duke had started to come to lay at the edge of the porch while Glen drank his morning coffee. Sometimes the dog would even brace his head on the edge of the porch and lay still as the kittens played with him, flicking his ears and setting them pouncing excitedly. During the last storm, Glen had even set up a makeshift bed in his small wood-shed behind the house and left the door cracked open so that the dog could escape the storm if he wished.

"OoooeEeooo," the shade called down towards Duke, it’s voice an eerie echo.

Withholding a disappointed sigh, Glen came to stand beside the massive hound as he stared up at the creature and sheathed his sword. Duke gave a grumbling growl, still trying to stretch himself while standing against the tree-- his next bark was like a sharp demand that Glen imagined was the dog’s order that the shade come down.

Marnie seemed to come to the same conclusion as him as she too heaved a sigh. Her eyes were distant as she stared at the shade-- not seeming to really be looking at it at all as she said, “Oh… it’s just a shade. ...Have you ever wondered if the stories about them being humans once are true? Seems such an evil thing to do-- even for the Empire.”

It did seem like a rather evil thing to do but Glen was almost certain that the Gotoro Empire and their magic had not, in fact, been the ones to purposefully cause the blight of mutations that affected monster and human alike. In fact, his parents had told a very different story than the ones told here in the Republic. Their stories had always told of how the monsters were caused by either the tears of gods falling to earth or unhappy spirits that had not been prayed for after death.

That, however, was neither here nor there.

 _\--*Perhaps this was a dead-end_?*-- Glen hoped that wouldn't prove literal.. In the field, he’d come across enough unfortunate souls while also charging the living for his assistance. Still, it didn’t seem as if this situation could help. Then Glen realized what the shade was holding. In its hands was Shane's jacket.

Using his cane, he slid it up and jerked the remains of Shane’s jacket from the shade’s grasp. A sad echo came from the creature as its prize was taken. Glen didn't mind shades for the most part-- _they were an annoyance at best with their tendency of moving or accidentally stealing items_ \-- but he knew that some of the ones deep in the mines that had mutated could be dangerous. This one, however… he doubted it would hurt anyone even by accident.

Looking over the jacket, the only thing of note was that one of the sleeves had a tear and the whole thing was dirty. It could have been found anywhere, even the mines, by this small shade. The shade looked mournfully down at him, tiny arms outstretched towards the prize it once held as it rocked unhappily on its branch. Glen handed the jacket to Marnie-- who was trying to keep her distance from both shade and Duke-- as he raised one of his rings to his lips and blew the haunting notes of his question at the shade, *Where? From?*

His colleagues had called him crazy when he'd taken the night course on monster languages back in the day. More so because most people preferred to kill monsters instead of converse with them. He'd even thought himself a little mad when he'd learned it all just to be sentenced to a cubicle for the next six years. However, delving into the mines he'd found a use for it and had been grateful. Most of the monsters there were happy to exchange gems and ore to someone who would go into the dangerous areas where monsters had been driven mad by mutations and would attack anything-- including other monsters-- that neared.

Now, as the little shade gave their haunting reply back, he was more than grateful that he could understand.

*Cliffs*

Glen pointed towards the cliffs to the south and the little monster shook its head and pointed north. Nodding, Glen pulled off his own shirt and offered it up. The shade grasped it and pulled it away hesitantly before climbing higher into the tree as Duke gave a big ‘harrumph’ and shook himself.

They returned to the ranch, kittens thundering around as they worked off the last of their midday peak energy and Duke lingering like a black rock in the doorway as Glen pulled on a new shirt. Marnie fluttered around anxiously, her hands alternating between twisting at her hair and tugging the apron she typically wore around her ranch.

Eventually whatever was bothering her bubbled up from the surface as she asked, "Why didn't we kill it? If it attacked Shane for his jacket--"

"It did not." She froze, hair mid-tug and looking frazzled as she looked at Glen while he bent to tug on the boots he preferred to wear into the mines. He continued as he checked over the new knee brace that the doctor had given him, making sure the laces were tight, "It found the jacket on the cliffs and I hazard the guess that it thought it was a gift until Duke chased him."

One thump of Duke's tail let him know the dog was listening-- though he wasn't sure if his guess was correct or not-- and Marnie said, "Oh… is that what it said? ... I didn't know you had a dog…"

"He lives on the farm," Glen said steadily, pulling the strap to his sword's scabbard over his head once more, "He is welcomed here. I enjoy his presence."

Another series of thumps from Duke's tail before he made a talkative grumble and the kittens swarmed him gleefully. Glen stared at the kittens and then looked back towards the fretting Marnie. The cliffs could be as dangerous as the mines themselves-- more so if any of the storms had loosened the rocks or opened a previously closed mine shaft. Many rock golems wandered that area at night and he doubted that this would be an easy retrieval.

He’d worked in the field for years before the incident that got him demoted to an overqualified desk jockey as he worked to pay his debts to the company. Marnie, though a hardy lass, likely hadn’t had to do any retrievals in her lifetime. Of course, he knew that her frantic state could have just been her worry and perhaps she was perfectly capable of going out into the wilderness to assist folks. In fact, since she lived out at the edges of town he thought that was actually fairly likely-- still she had a young child to think about as well.

"Marnie," he said, his voice soft and calm as he could make it, as he nudged the kittens back into the house with his foot, "can you feed the kittens for me and go back to your farm until I return? It’s possible that Shane will return home. Someone should be there. If I find him--I will come get you there. Jas is walked home by Miss Penny soon, right?"

Briefly she looked as if she might argue but then she began to wring the dirty jacket as she said. "Yes. I was going to make cookies with her and Vincent today. Oh, damn-- Okay. I'll be at the ranch if you need me. Please, find him?"

Glen simply nodded.

He left her with the tiring kittens as he set off into the softly drizzling day with Duke following like a hulking shadow behind him. It wasn't long before he was skirting the thin paths along the cliffs, hunting for any sign of where Shane could be while keeping an eye on the ravine below for the body he hoped to not find. It was Duke, nose to the ground and tail stiff, who led him to the first clues. Empty bottles of beer-- the same brand Shane had brought on that fateful night-- littered one of the overlooks beside an old mine entrance.

The dog carried on, past the bottles and silently into the darkness as Glen wondered what would drive Shane to go into the mines.

~

* * *

~

Shane leaned against the rock wall, cradling his arm and tiredly wondering what he was going to do. The massive and terrifying creature that had chased him, whatever it was, had stopped digging hours ago-- maybe even a day or two ago but Shane wasn't sure anymore. The only tell for time was that he'd napped a few times and caved to drinking from one of the underground springs-- his drunken stupor had long ago faded with the terror and the realization he was lost. Yet he couldn't tell if his head was pounding from a hangover now or from when he'd hit it. Everything was cold but he couldn't tell if that was simply because he'd lost his jacket or if it was due to being near a frost crystal. He wasn’t sure he could tell anymore. Wasn’t sure he cared.

Coming down here was stupid and he couldn’t even remember why he’d done it. Everything was a black-out blur and nothing made sense. His last memories were of swinging desperately on a broken rope above a chasm. Crawling up the rope had felt nearly impossible but fear had propelled him upwards when he'd glanced down to see rows upon rows of teeth.

Shane closed his eyes against the fuzzy memory-- angry at himself, the world, and this stupid fucking cave that he was stuck in. The urgency that came with needing to get out seemed to be contradicted by the simple fact that it was just... easier to sleep. Maybe it was lack of oxygen due to the cave-in that had kept the beast from getting him during the mad scramble.

It all seemed too ironic, he'd come up to the cliffs with his beer the way he sometimes did-- _more often within the last couple years_ \-- to contemplate throwing himself off. He never did it, of course. Too much of a coward. Things like ' _would it hurt_?' and ' _what if things got better_?' would linger in his drunk mind just long enough for him to sober up just enough and head home.

However, he’d been going to the cliffs more often since his night with Glen. Stupid to hope-- * _to have thought... that maybe... but no, no that wasn't right. It couldn't be. Who in their right mind would go for someone like him?_ *-- After that day, once Shane had fully slept off his hangover, he'd begun to realize what a damned fool he'd been. Nothing changed about Glen's attitude either. He was still that same stiff, emotionless, cardboard cutout of a human and even though Shane hoped ever so slightly that he was misreading things... he knew better. People like that aren't into people like Shane. After all, Glen owned a farm of his own and didn't sell his soul for pennies.

That thought drifted with him, as he relented to fully passing out. He woke to a jolt of pain. The world jostled and tweaked but then stilled before he was vaguely aware of being shifted gently and draped across someone's shoulders like some rich old woman's fur shawl. They were so blessedly warm. Like a heating pad set on high or the incubator that Marnie used for hatching abandoned eggs. --* _Was he an abandoned egg_? _Maybe a bad egg that no one really wanted_.*-- The stupid thought drifted in a sticky disjointed way through his head before he woke up enough to try and figure out what was going on.

What he noticed first was that the person moved very slowly. They braced a hand on the wall in the gloom with no torch to light their way, but he did notice that several enchanted rings glowed on the hand he could see with just enough light for them to navigate.

Then he realized that he recognized the smell, spices and incense, like the temple he'd visited with Jas on her last birthday. They'd ridden on the bus to an old temple, the walls starting to crumble from lack of care and so few travelers came out to see it anymore. It was a family tradition though that when you reach six you go and make a wish-- and since it had been Jas' sixth birthday...

When They’d gotten there she'd wished that someone would repair the shrine, so he and Jas had spent the rest of the day cleaning up old leaves and re-hanging the fallen bell chimes. He'd wished for something a little less charitable and achievable when he was there with Jas-- he'd wished for love. Then goddamn Glen had moved to town the next day and Shane realized that if the old shrine really did connect you to the gods that they had really fucked up senses of humor. Glen was about as unachievable as Shane’s dream to own his own chicken farm.

The smell of spices, strange and stupidly erotic, came with the rock-in-the-stomach full realization that it was Glen who was carrying his stupid ass out. How Glen had found Shane... he wasn't sure. Hell, at that point he wasn't even sure he could have found _himself_ even if he resided in the body he was looking for.

How long it took, Shane wasn't sure. He wasn’t even sure he was conscious for all of it. There were snatches of tunnels and he thought he might have seen shades and that big dog-thing that had been on Glen's property previously but all of it faded away-- tuning in and out like a fuzzy radio station until he finally opened his eyes to the tiny emergency room that Harvey kept in his clinic. There was an IV and heart monitor, tubes, and a stupid amount of sterile white-- but that wasn't what caught his attention.

No, what caught his attention was what was beside the bed. His jacket sat, washed and mended, beside a vase of stupidly large sunflowers on the little 'get well' table. Penny sat reading to Jas and Vincent, both kids looking sleepy and stressed until Jas saw his open eyes and let off a squeal that would have woken the dead.

"SHANE!" She shouted, bouncing up from the pillow she'd been sitting on.

Jas scrambled up the bed and onto his lap faster than a chicken trying to escape the pen and he gave her an awkward one-armed hug-- his other arm in a tight sling that was strapped against his chest. He only vaguely registered pain with the movement. It was far away like someone had stuffed a pillow over it. If his sluggish mind could have made a guess then he would have said that Harvey broke out the hard stuff for him.

Must have been bad.

With Jas clinging to him he looked around for someone, anyone else, who cared about him enough to be there. Penny sat gingerly at the edge of the bed, holding a watery-eyed Vincent as she explained, "Marnie had to get back to the ranch to feed the animals. She only just left.”

 _\--*What about Glen? Had I just imagined him?*--_ He wanted to ask. Instead, he nodded and tried the shift Jas enough that he could breathe. Penny smiled, the tired lines around her eyes crinkling as she picked up Vincent. “I’ll be right back for Jas. I just need to walk Vincent home-- he wanted to stay with Jas till you were awake.”

As Penny left, Harvey, looking like he'd been freshly peeled out of bed, shuffled in. "Ah, Mr Gilden, good to see you awake. How're you feeling?"

One thing Shane hated about Harvey-- * _other than the fact that the man was a gods-damned busybody who thought he was better than everyone else because he was 'in shape' and the only one in town to have gotten a degree outside of Joja*_ \-- was the fact that he insisted on using last names because it was 'professional'. It always made Shane want to professionally punch him in his professional mouth. That and he'd been the first person Shane had ever really cared for outside of his family. Then one day Harvey backed out of their two-year-long relationship with a note that said ‘Sorry I don’t think I’m gay anymore’ before he switched his attention to someone else. To say that it had messed Shane up… well, that was an understatement. He’d pawned the ring he'd intended to give to Harvey for the first round of booze and kept drinking since then.

Shane looked away. --* _How was he feeling?*--_ He didn’t know. Somewhere between numb and utterly fucking wrecked. Lonely. Scared. Maybe a little pissed. Kinda wishing he could just head to the bar and…

\--* _Gods, he had a problem._ *--

“Well,” Harvey wrote something down on the clipboard, “if you need me, use the red button on the side of the bed.” His voice softened, “Please don’t try to get up or move around too much, Shane. You really had a close call falling through that abandoned mine shaft… You had us all worried.”

Jas watched Harvey as he shuffled back out of the room with a barely hidden yawn. --* _It must have been late. Or... perhaps he'd been sitting up at Shane's bed so he wouldn't wake up alone._ *-- Once Harvey was gone, Jas slipped off the bed to grab one of the big sunflowers. She brought it back over, looking gleeful as she held it out. “Look what Avi brought. Isn’t it pretty?”

Avi? Shane didn’t know anyone in town named Avi. Jas crawled up and petted at the petals. “They’re from his garden. Even mama doesn’t grow them this big. And his has pink in them. Aren’t the red ones pretty?”

The only person growing sunflowers-- particularly colorful sunflowers-- besides Marnie was Mr Glen. Wait… was 'Avi' Glen’s first name? “Uhm, Jas, who is Avi?”

Jas’ little face was super serious as she answered. “I couldn’t say Mr Glen’s full name so he said Avi was okay but only between me ‘n him. You can’t call him that.”

“Ah.” What could he say to that? “Okay. He was here?”

Jas nodded, tucking her legs under his blanket as she scooted in next to him like they did when they watched movies in his room or when he let her play on his console. “Mhm.”

With that mystery solved, Shane settled with staring at the ceiling as Jas hummed and picked the petals off the sunflower to gently pile them on his stomach. Wondering what ‘Avi’ now must think of him, Shane faded back off to sleep.

~

~

Glen stared down at Shane who looked like a rabbit about to bolt from his front porch.

“Uh, yeah, hi.” Shane said looking away and using his uninjured hand to fluff at the back of his hair. “Uh…”

 _\--*He was okay_.*-- The thought was prevalent as Glen stared at him. He hadn’t dared linger in the hospital. Not when such a place was for family or friends and Glen was fairly sure that he was partially to blame for Shane’s state. Still, against his better judgment, Glen had visited twice. Both times Shane had been asleep and Glen had quietly left flowers.

\--* _People were supposed to give flowers when someone was in the hospital, right?_ *--

Glen’s grip on the post tightened and Shane fell silent. --* _Just say whatever you came to say and leave*--_ he thought almost desperately. --* _Or just go, I don’t care_.*--

The lie rattled around emptily in his head after it popped from his brain. Truth was, he’d been worried. Perhaps these last few years had made him too gentle hearted but he was glad to see Shane looking mostly whole and alive. Though Glen had carefully buried any of the unusual heartsick feelings that had cropped up-- like he'd buried most of the food leftovers from the townsfolk-- that hadn't stopped him from being worried.

“Want coffee?” Glen asked when the silence began to linger on too long. “...tea?”

Shane’s face was so easy to read but it was a jumbled mess of expressions that tumbled one after another after the question. Eventually, Shane gave a shaky looking grin. “Yeah. Coffee.”

Glen led the way. Feeling similar to the way he had so many years ago when he’d been summoned for an evaluation because of what he’d done. It was a rise of new emotions that he wasn’t sure he’d felt in… a very long time. It was hard to appreciate it when he felt like his guts were twisting with nerves. Still, he kept a calm face as he clicked on the water to heat and set to shuffling things over to where his few seating pillows were.

“You look good,” Shane said, rubbing his free hand nervously on his pants.

Glen didn’t risk more than a glance in Shane’s direction as he said, “As do you. ...How is the arm?”

He didn’t mention that he’d had to push it back into place and bind the deep wound with his belt before carrying Shane out. That he’d feared the worst when he’d first found Shane passed out and covered in blood. The memory popped up though, along with that new little feeling of gut-punch worry, and Glen had to take a steadying breath as he pretended to shuffle things on his counter.

When he'd found him, Shane had been deep in a dangerous section of the mines. It was near the same area where Glen had been forced to trigger a cave-in to contain a beast he couldn’t kill. According to the local shades, the beast had survived the cave-in and was still causing trouble by infecting other monsters with its sickness. Not good news… It was lucky that some of the shades had followed Shane down and collapsed another tunnel to seperate him from the beast. Yet... how he'd gotten down there in the first place was a question...

“It’s good. No breaks but, uh, I pulled something. You know, in my shoulder? Couple cuts. Had to get stitches.” Shane’s laugh was pitched and forced. “Yeah. So no lifting for me anytime soon. Harvey signed some forms for work so when I go back in a couple weeks I’ll be on the register instead of doing stocking I guess. Maybe. I'd feel bad if Sam had to do all the work though...”

The electric kettle gave a pop and Glen grabbed it, carrying it over to the spot beneath the window where he’d set everything else down on a tea tray turned tiny table. He’d taken the other table outside out of frustration a week prior and hadn’t bothered to bring it back in. It still sat in the shed, likely getting dripped on since he left the door open for Duke more often now that the weather was turning cold.

Glen scooted one of the kittens away from the table-- tossing a toy ball he’d sewn to get it to scramble off-- and left the seating cushion free for Shane as he settled onto the floor. It was difficult to keep himself steady and not look at Shane as he poured the water into their cups and added some instant coffee to both of them, yet he managed. Shane shuffled over and sat, still looking like he thought Glen was about to turn into a wolf and eat him.

“Uhm,” Shane eventually spoke again once he had the cup of coffee clutched in his hand like a life-line, “I’m not sure how to say this…”

 _\--*I’m sure it’ll come to you_ *-- Glen thought as he leaned against the wall and took a measured sip of his coffee. It was a different brand than he usually got and had a nutty undertone to the typical cheap pretend-bean flavor. Not terrible but… different. Pierre seemed to be trying to get some alternative stock from the city to draw interest but it looked like only Glen was buying the new items. He dearly hoped that Pierre didn’t go under. That would be a shame, and frankly, he wasn’t sure what to do if that happened since he would not-- could not-- enter the Joja mart. He knew his own garden certainly wouldn’t sustain him and though he’d gotten a recipe book… he’d yet to read it. Until he learned to cook, Pierre’s and the Saloon were all he had.

“You must be pissed,” Shane said eventually, looking away. “Gods, you must hate me. I’m-- I’m really sorry. About the caves. Marnie told me that you--… I should probably go.”

Shane set the cup down. Glen’s hand twitched where it rested and he wanted to reach out. To stop Shane. He couldn’t get himself to move though. Shane was starting to get up when he managed to force himself to say, “Or, you could stay.”

If his heart fluttered with anxiety, he ignored it. He needed Shane to decide. No matter his own desires, he wouldn’t be the cause of Shane’s pain. Not again. The drunken night had been his own selfishness-- lust without regard for consequence-- and now, for once, he wanted to repair the damage it had caused.

Shane’s fist balled beside his own cup before he looked up, the mop of his dark purple-ish hair hanging low enough that it almost covered his eyes as he asked, “You sure? I mean--”

“Shane,” Glen looked away. He couldn’t take how meeting Shane’s eyes made him feel. He _wanted_ Shane to stay. For once in gods know how long he well and truly _wanted._ “Stay. If you want. I--” -- * _More. He knew he needed to say more but what_?*-- “I… enjoy your company.”

It seemed like a good start, especially when he glanced up to see the relieved smile on Shane's face.


	5. I Hate Fishing

(Image of Stardew Valley Marnie. Painted by B. G. Wolfe. Do not take or repost, Thank you.)

* * *

Shane sat miserably at the edge of the lake’s pier with a fishing pole clutched in his good hand. There were many things that Shane enjoyed but fishing had never really been one of them. Still, he was determined and wasn’t about to let Jas down even if he had to fish every damn one of the bastards out of the lake himself.

The slow crunch of footsteps announced his visitor long before they actually arrived and Shane heard the tick of dog claws on wood before he turned to glance at the massive hound and Glen who stood nearby. The relationship between Shane and Glen had been mostly amicable since Shane’s injury-- * _one more week before he could take the damn sling off for good_ *-- and Shane was still grateful that Glen had lied and told folks that an old shaft had collapsed. That he'd fallen in, rather than getting blackout drunk and wandering into the mines on his own. No mention of the cliffs and no useless pamphlets on suicide prevention to be left unread on his nightstand again. He wasn’t leaving his depression to simmer though-- not this time-- and was taking slow steps towards getting help.

Glen shaded his eyes, slowly observing the waters before he asked, “fishing?”

Shane gave an annoyed grunt as he looked away. “No, I’m playing hockey.”

“Hm.”

He didn’t realize that Glen was leaving until it was too late. The steps faded away as Glen carried on his path towards Marnie’s farm. Both Glen and the dog skirted the water’s edge and Shane found his concentration wavering as he watched them go. Once they were out of sight however he returned to the task at hand-- glaring at the water as he dared one of the fish to bite.

When the sun began to dip in the horizon, he still hadn’t caught anything but some lake-bound trash.

Then the bobber began to dip. Once. Twice. On the third dip, he gave it an experimental tug and was surprised to find that there was some resistance to it. He stood with his surprise, jerking the rod as he began to frantically wind the reel as best he could with the hand still stuck in the sling. Just below the surface, he could see the struggling fish-- massive bastard that it was-- and his heart leapt into his throat with the combination of adrenaline and glee that he wouldn’t let down Jas. That miserably sitting out here for all this time would _finally_ be worth it.

Fighting with the fish was harder than he’d thought it would be-- particularly with one arm. The few times he made the mistake of letting go of the reel, the bastard would dip far beneath the surface and pull the line back out. Then there was the matter that he had no clue how he was going to lift the massive fish since already the pole was bending enough that he thought it might break. He’d just decided to pull the tantalizingly close fish around the pier and onto the shore when there was a SNAP and the line went slack.

Rage and grief colored his vision as he stood there dumbly holding the pole and staring at the snapped line that dangled there. He could feel his breath shudder. His heart hammered against his ribs. Pressure rolled behind his eyes.

“FUCK!” He surprised himself by yelling-- the word echoing across the lake as he threw the pole into the water.

“GODDAMNIT!” He snarled next, throwing the boot he’d ‘caught’ earlier.

“MOTHERF--”

He stopped mid-rant when he turned to grab something --anything-- to throw into the water and saw that Glen was standing at the shoreline. Glen’s approach was cautious as he came over and offered out a canned drink and simply said, “Coffee.”

Shane took it, his rage deflating into bitter defeat as he muttered, “Thanks.”

“Line snap?”

“...yeah.”

Glen just nodded sagely before taking a sip from his own can as he said, “Hate fishing.”

Shane wasn’t sure if Glen meant that he hated fishing or that he’d noticed that Shane hated fishing. Either way, it didn’t seem to matter. Whether he hated fishing or not he was going to get that damned doll back if it killed him. His murderous glare drifted back toward the water as he held the warmed can in his hands. He’d had plans for the weekend-- * _for once none of said plans were for getting drunk*_ \-- but now it was looking like this project was going to take longer than he’d expected. The idea of spending more than a day doing this legitimately made him want to cry.

“Jas said a fish took her doll,” Glen said, his shoulder brushing against Shane’s ever so slightly as he came to stand beside him and leaned to look into the water.

“Uh-huh.”

“Big fish?”

“Uh-huh.”

Shane wasn’t sure he could get more than that out past the turmoil of emotions. It didn’t help that he wanted to ask Glen if he’d stay for a while as Glen’s fairly tolerable company might make all of this slightly more bearable. Yet he could already feel Glen moving away.

At least he thought Glen was moving away.

Then he heard the jangle of a buckle and turned to see Glen stripping down. For the first time since they’d slept together, Shane was seeing far more of the man than he ever remembered seeing. The tattoo was still there-- spanning the length of Glen’s chest-- but now he could see that it didn’t stop at his stomach as he’d initially thought. It carried down all the way along Glen’s thigh-- ending just above the knee brace-- and it spiraled along the tight muscular curve leading the eye to trail up to where a tight set of fancy looking boxers hugged the skin of his crotch. Gods, the man even had braces for his socks and a little dagger holstered there.

Shane was staring-- trying to peel his eyes away from the mostly bared and very muscular thighs-- when Glen drew the dagger. Alarm set in as Shane’s attention re-focused to watch the glint of metal as Glen shifted it up and bit it before sprinting past and diving into the water in a graceful arc like a crane.

Stunned, Shane simply stood there.

The surface of the lake calmed before he realized that Glen had not re-emerged. In fact, he couldn’t even see Glen. Now a real and true panic began to set in as more time began to pass. One minute. Two. Three. Five. Thoughts of what could have happened-- of how Glen could have struck the bottom with his head and not only knocked himself out but gotten stuck in the sticky mud-- now began to swarm his mind.

Shane had just begun to try to toss off his own shirt, sling, and shoes when there was a ripple. The water shuddered before Glen crested the surface wrestling with the massive fish that Shane had previously been trying to haul in-- the same fish that he was sure had stolen Jas’ doll. That is unless there were more massively oversized fish in the little lake. He hoped that wasn't the case though.

The leftover fishing wire was wrapped fast around Glen’s hand-- tight enough that it had cut the skin in some places-- but he was using it to hold the fish still as he jammed the knife into the fish and swam quickly towards the shore. He emerged, drenched but looking nonplussed as he pulled the now limp fish up with him before rather unceremoniously making a deft slice along its stomach. Out spilled a multitude of unusual items. Rocks, gems, an earring that Shane was sure belonged to Haley, a dog collar, and most importantly-- Jas’ current favorite doll with its glittery pink dress. Course the glitter was marred by the guts but a little rinse would probably get it all off. Hopefully.

Glen knelt, head tipping as he used the knife to look over both the mess and the fish itself. When Shane was close enough, Glen looked up at him-- a loose strand of hair sticking to his wet skin-- as he said, “Should be safe to eat. No discernable mutations besides size.”

“Eat?” Shane echoed.

Shrugging, Glen wiped his knife on his now wet socks-- a smear left on the dark fabric-- before he said, “If you wanted. Better than wasting it.”

“Er… yeah. I guess. ...How-- how the hell did you hold your breath that long.”

Glen raised a hand, using his thumb to gesture to a ring on one of his fingers. “Water-breathing enchantment.”

“Oh.”

The boxers might as well have been painted on with how tightly they now clung to Glen’s thighs and ass-- leaving little to the imagination-- as he stood and headed for his clothes. As Glen pulled his clothing back on, Shane’s mouth ran away from his as he asked, “Want to come? I mean over. For dinner?”

Glen paused, his hands frozen where they’d been re-adjusting the collar of the brown leather bomber jacket he’d begun wearing when the weather began to change. Those piercing golden-brown eyes flicked to look at Shane though he remained silent.

“We’re, uh, having fish. I guess,” Shane added with a weak smile.

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Glen said, picking up his drink from where it had been set.

“Please,” Shane said, trying not to sound like he was begging even though he was sure he was. “My treat. Or … well… I mean you caught the fish so it’s more your treat really, but I mean-- You could give Jas her doll.”

Said doll still lay in the pile of fish guts and they both cast it a glance.

“Er… after washing it maybe…” Shane amended.

He knew that Jas had a growing love for ‘Avi’-- * _though the truth could possibly be said for Shane as well_ *-- since he’d rescued Shane. She’d also been brightly talking about a book that Glen had lent the museum. For Glen to have rescued her doll-- Shane was sure she’d be over the moon with hero worship. ...Shane couldn't blame her though.

Glen looked at him. His expression stony and impassive before he finally gave a shrug. “I will come to the ranch but you will give her the doll. After washing it.”

The last was said with a thoughtful hum before he walked over and took one of the nets from the fishing gear that Shane had borrowed from Marnie’s storage. All the fish and its stolen contents were scooped into the net before Glen tilted his head towards the direction of Marnie’s farm. “Shall we?”

“Oh-- yeah. I-- alright,” Shane said, scuttling to pull his shirt and sling back on, pick up the toolbox full of fishing supplies, and cast a final glance at the lake where the rod now floated.

There was no way he was hopping into that water during the autumn and he certainly wasn’t going to ask Glen to go in again. The rod would stay there till it drifted to shore-- probably to be picked up by Linus-- and that was fine with him. Now that the giant fish was dead he’d-- hopefully-- never have to fish again. If Marnie complained, he’d rather just dig into his measly savings and buy her a new one. With better fishing line. That wouldn’t break.

It seemed that Shane's thoughts had him as tangled as a fishing line and it kept him quiet. Perhaps it was for the best since Glen seemed the type to enjoy the quiet. The tangled thoughts carried him along as he walked beside Glen who still moved at a slow and measured pace. While his limp was not as bad as it had been when they’d first met, he still used the cane most of the time. Curiously it was absent at the moment though he’d seen Glen using it earlier that morning.

As they neared the fence that encapsulated the yard, Shane noticed that his favorite hen was out. She’d been bullied as a chick by the others and he’d had to hand raise her. There was a weird sense of camaraderie he felt with her over that and he kept a box with hay in his room for the nights where she refused to roost with the others. Before he realized what he was doing he’d set his canned coffee on the fence, walked over and picked her up-- fussing with her feathers and settling her into the ‘pocket’ that his sling kind of provided as she gave a soft squawk-- only to turn and realize that Glen was watching him.

“I--uh-- this is Queenie,” Shane said, fighting the dread at what Glen’s reaction might be. “She’s my favorite.”

He almost wished he hadn’t added that last part.

Almost.

Still, perhaps it was better to know now if Glen hated chickens, right? The thought made his stomach clench. No matter how much Shane protested, it seemed like his feelings wanted to be invested into Glen and the man’s opinions.

“She’s lovely,” Glen said, the corner of his mouth quirking ever so slightly. “And regal. The name fits.”

“Right? I thought so too.”

To his surprise, Glen chuckled as he looked away. Not that Shane was very good at reading people-- particularly Glen-- but he was sure there was something almost bashful about the way he didn’t seem to be able to meet Shane’s eyes.

“Did you want to pet her?” Shane asked, startling himself with his own question as he took a step forward. “She’s pretty friendly. I raised her myself.”

Glen glanced at him, his gaze questioning, before setting his own can of coffee onto the fence and stepping forward to meet him. While the hand with the thin cuts from the fishing line went to brace the net the other was reached out-- rather hesitantly-- to brush his fingers along her feathers.

Standing so close, Shane wasn’t sure if he should watch the chicken or Glen. It seemed his mind made the decision for him however as he glanced up and saw that Glen was not staring at the chicken anymore and their eyes locked. Shane wanted to move forward-- to slide his hand up the supple leather of the jacket and cup the back of Glen’s neck to bring him down enough to kiss-- to relive that hazy drunken memory of that night on Glen’s front porch.

“AVI!” Jas’ excited scream jolted him from the trance as both he and Glen stepped quickly away from each other. “You’re back!”

\--* _Was it his imagination or had Glen been leaning forward too_?*--

Glen turned, looking at Jas with a surprisingly fond expression and a faint smile. “Hello again, Jas. Marnie.”

Marnie stood at the doorway, wiping her hands as she beamed. “Back already? Did you need more hay?”

“Ah, no,” Glen said glancing at Shane. An emotion seemed to flicker briefly in the scrunch of Glen’s eyes before he looked away and said, “I was just being introduced to the dear Lady Queenie--” he paused as Jas giggled-- “but I will be heading home now.”

 _\--*Wait_. _No_.*--

Shane opened his mouth to protest but Marnie beat him to it as she took a step down from the doorway and said, “Stay for dinner? I just finished making a pumpkin pie with the first of this year’s crops-- be happy to have the company. I haven’t even started anything for dinner yet so if I’ve got the ingredients-- you name it and I’ll make it.”

Never before had Shane seen someone look both regal and awkward at the same time but Glen managed it before he said, “I-- Alright.”

“Any requests?” Marnie prodded.

“No ma’am, afraid not.”

Shane carefully set down Queenie before reaching over and pushing Glen to turn sideways-- showing the fish as Shane said, “How about we eat the fish Glen caught? Maybe spicy fish soup?”

Glen shifted uncomfortably, looking away.

“Or… not spicy?” Shane amended.

"I--" Glen cleared his throat. “No. Spicy is fine.”

The silence fell between them as Queenie chuckled in chicken and strutted away towards the henhouse-- obviously happy now that he’d given her some cuddles.

“Well,” Marnie said with a bright smile as she stepped forward to take the fish, “That’s certainly one heck of a catch! Why don’t you boys go pick some peppers and whatever vegetables you want to add from the garden while I get this de-scaled and cleaned?”

“Right,” Shane nodded before tipping his head towards the garden and grabbing his still unopened can of coffee from the fence. He shoved it into his jacket pocket to free his hand as he said, “This way.”

Picking vegetables was a quiet affair. Shane realized that he spent more time watching Glen-- who seemed content to hold what Shane picked-- than actually working. Only once they were picking peppers did Glen give a faint grunt. When Shane glanced at him, the man’s eyes were closed and there were pained lines around his eyes similar to the time he’d been injured by the golem. The culprit seemed to be the pepper that Shane had just handed him-- and that Glen had unthinkingly taken with his injured hand.

“We, uh, should probably wash that hand,” Shane said, leaning over and taking the basket that Glen had been carrying for him.

“It’s fine. I’ll take care of it later.”

“Hmph,” Shane harrumphed as he hefted the basket farther onto his arm and dragged Glen towards the barn. “Come on. We’ll use the med-kit and wash station in here.”

The warm air of the barn greeted them-- the special heaters already on to combat the chilly fall evening air-- as they entered and pressed towards the back where the wash station was. Glen was quiet through the washing of his hand-- letting Shane man-handle and direct him with a faintly bemused expression. Shane was most of the way through carefully dabbing on the clear liquid bandages when he glanced up and met Glen’s intense gaze.

For the second time that night, Shane found himself lost in Glen’s dark enigmatic eyes and desperately wanting to kiss him. Whether it was him who edged forward or Glen-- he wasn’t sure. He could smell the faint smell of coffee from Glen’s breath as it tickled over his lips and he faintly wondered what his own breath smelled like-- hoped it wasn’t horrible since he hadn’t drunk his own coffee yet and had only eaten some frozen pizza earlier before Jas came in crying about the monster fish stealing her doll.

His heart was pounding in his throat and their lips almost close enough to brush when Glen pulled away and cleared his throat. “We should head back.”

Shane tried not to hide the crushing disappointment as he leaned away as well and finished the final dab of liquid bandage onto Glen’s hand. “Yeah. Right. Marnie will want those vegetables.”

~

* * *

~

Shane sat, the oddly comfortable cushion capturing his ass for his now daily afternoon visit to Glen’s that had started several weeks ago when he’d run into Glen on his walk home from work. Rather unusual for the normally stoic man, Glen was glaring daggers into his tea like it had offended his… wall building skills? Shane wasn’t sure what Glen would count as offensive but he was fairly sure he’d managed to do ‘something’ by the expression on Glen’s face.

“Something wrong?” Shane asked, for once feeling like he could see past his own self-loathing enough to realize that maybe Glen was not as put together as he’d always assumed.

Glen’s dark eyes rose from the tea. He didn’t say anything but Shane could see the faint adam’s apple bob. This time no drunk haze was there to distract him into thinking about kissing it-- though the thought still popped up-- and instead he was able to see the haunted look behind Glen’s gaze.

What a pair they were. Two fucked-up grown men trying to find their place in the world and fuck knows exactly where and how that was supposed to be.

Against his better judgment-- and technically the doctor’s orders-- Shane hitched a thumb at the door. “Mind if we switch to the porch? I could use a smoke.”

And so could Glen if Shane was guessing correctly.

Glen stood, pushing up from his seating pillow and still somehow not even slightly sloshing his tea the way Shane might if he’d done it. His answer was only a single nod. --* _Perhaps Glen had used up his allotment of words for the month like some robot who used words like social currency?_ *-- It was a stupid thought that meandered across Shane’s mind but he couldn’t help but smother the smile that wanted to crop up because of it.

The kittens, perhaps sensing that it was time to go outside, all converged on the door with expectant howling and Shane stared.

\--* _Were they wearing sweaters?_ *-- They _were_. Each of the little kittens was wearing a little patchwork outfit and he looked incredulously at Glen as he asked, “You made them outfits?”

Glen gently nudged one of them aside with his foot before opening the door and they all thundered outside like a herd of four-legged toddlers. He looked almost embarrassed as he answered. “Weather’s getting cold.”

It was, but Shane had never considered actually putting a cat in a sweater before and Marnie just made sure that the hay-safe heaters were on during the winter. He’d always liked the wild and weird-looking short-hair cats from the nearby forest that his aunt had begun to domesticate. They were a lot like the chickens in a way. A lot of people overlooked them for some reason or another. Most people even thought they were ugly-- both chicken and cats respectively. Shane, however, thought that if the cats sat up with their big ears flopping out the way they did, they looked like little wrinkly goblins. It was, in his opinion, hilarious enough to forgive them for their lack of what others considered beautiful. The sweaters tripled the effect. It was indescribably perfect and left him wondering if they could make them little hats as well.

Following after Glen and the kittens, Shane settled onto the porch and dug out a cig. He was still on the fence about what he was going to do about his drinking-- though he actually hadn’t had a drop since he’d gotten out of the hospital. While no one knew that the mine incident had been because of his drinking he’d still asked Harvey for contact info for a therapist. He wasn’t sure if drinking might tip him back into what he was starting to think had been… a very unhealthy place. More so when he’d had to comfort Jas as she came crying into his room from nightmares where he’d been hurt again. While he wasn’t sure he wanted to be sober for himself-- he knew he wanted to try and be sober for his goddaughter.

Glen didn’t sit, his cigarette dangling from his fingers as he leaned on the rail next to his tea and stared out at the forest. --* _What must he be thinking_?*-- Shane wasn’t sure he wanted to ask but his brain was barking at him like the little dog outside of Pam’s trailer and he was desperate to shut it up.

In the silence, Glen didn’t look at him. His gaze was firmly on his hands as he toyed with one of the enchanted rings on his fingers when he finally spoke, “I’m… not good. With people I mean,” He paused, glancing Shane’s way for a heartbeat before looking away again. Shane could see a dance of tension roll through Glen’s jaw before he continued, “I just-- I’m glad you’re okay.”

 _\--*That was it_? _It seemed like Glen was holding back_ _but then again when was he not?*--_

Shane wasn’t sure if he really wanted to pry so he just flicked his cig with his thumb and focused his gaze on the dog who was letting the kittens play-maul him. He was finding that he actually quite liked Duke. For the past week, the massive dog had walked with him from the start of the dirt path out of the town up to Glen’s house. How Duke knew when he was coming and which path he was on, he wasn’t sure, yet the dog lay at the head of the path and greeted him every time. He was also sure that he’d seen the big dog around Marnie’s farm once or twice keeping away wilderness golems. All in all, it had improved his opinion of the massive beast considerably.

“I used to work for Joja.”

Shane jerked, looking up at Glen’s seemingly random announcement. “What? ...really?”

“Yeah. You asked why I wanted to move here. When we first met.”

“And you said I didn’t want the answer,” Shane said, leaning back so he could better look up at Glen.

“Yeah.”

Shane raised a brow and to his surprise when Glen glanced at him next, he was rewarded with the hint of a smile.

“So?” Shane prompted.

Glen finally moved and sat down beside him, the smile lost once more behind the mask. “Couldn’t do it anymore. Work for them, I mean. No longer had to too once I paid off things.”

“Not that I blame you-- I mean, we both know where I work-- but why tell me now?”

“... there were bottles. By the cliff.”

The words felt like ice in his veins. Did Glen know that he’d been up there-- like usual-- thinking to jump off? Did he think less of him for it?

Glen didn’t look up this time as he repeated, “I don’t do well with people.”

“Pfft. Same.” Shane said, raising his tea. “I’ll fuckin drink to that.”

That earned him a side-eye. Likely Glen had noticed the fact that Shane turned down all alcohol since the incident. Or maybe Glen hadn’t noticed. Unlikely. Glen seemed to notice everything and it was unnerving sometimes.

“I mean I… appreciate you-- ah-- that’s… that’s not it,” Glen visibly grimaced. “I mean thanks. For visiting. And giving me another chance.”

 _\--*Another chance_?*-- Shane was starting to feel like he was missing something and he said as much, “I think we’re not on the same page today.”

“It was selfish,” Glen said now toying with his own cup. “I didn’t think about how it might affect you. Or... I did but I told myself I didn’t care. I’m sorry.”

_Ok... now they were definitely not understanding each other._

Shane opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to puzzle out what Glen meant when it finally hit him-- Glen thought he was the one to blame. Perhaps that was even why he’d pulled away that evening after catching the fish when they were finally so damn close to kissing. Shane couldn’t help but laugh, dragging a hand over his face as he asked, “Do you-- you think I was up there because of our one night stand?”

“Possibly.”

“Shit,” Shane said with a chuckle that was somewhere between really amused, hopeful, and mildly horrified. “No. No, I was up there because I can’t stand myself. I’ve got no worth. I’m a drunk with no life and I’m nothing worth looking at. I just… sometimes I feel like I’m in a pit with no way out except for the one I can choose and… well, for me that was the cliffs.”

The honesty was… refreshing. He kind of wished he was drunk and wouldn’t remember saying it but that thought was followed by the desire to keep up the change. Aside from just feeling better physically he’d also already had the first session with the therapist and he thought maybe it had helped. He _wanted_ to get better. Somewhere in the back of his brain he also really, really wanted a beer but he wasn’t gonna cave to that particular monster.

Glen was quiet, his brown eyes looking more amber in the evening sunlight. He blinked, his face that same expressionless robotic blank before he asked, “Then why avoid me after that?”

“Have you seen you? You’re-- you’re all brown skin, muscles, and just, you know,” Shane finished it lamely with a shrug. His cheeks felt like they were on fire and that ‘no alcohol’ thing was starting to look worse with every moment. “And...I mean, yeah, I guess I thought with how you acted that perhaps you didn’t like it. Or me-- or that I’d just stripped naked and rather embarrassingly passed out in your bed after we’d made out-- but it wasn’t you. I… I go up there a lot actually.”

“Ah. ...guess I can relate.”

“You?” It sounded more belligerent than he meant it and Shane internally winced even as his mouth continued to run on, “Sorry. I just… I mean you have the farm. You’re hot-- only mildly sorry I said that out loud-- and you’ve got, shit-- like, everything.”

“You continue to dismerit yourself but you are attractive as well. And I don’t have everything.” Glen still wasn’t looking at him. The muscle in his jaw was working overtime though and Shane could see tension along Glen’s neck. “You have family. A home. Friends.”

“Eh, Aunt Marnie puts up with me. And I-- yeah there is Jas but it’s not the same. ...and I don’t really get on with people. Don’t think I have any friends.”

“You have me. ...if you wanted.”

Shane couldn’t help but grin. He hid it behind a sip from his coffee before he asked, “So we’re friends?”

“If you want. I do not object to your company.”

“So, can I officially say that’s a frickin weird way of saying you like to hang with someone?”

The corner of Glen’s mouth twitched as he looked at Shane from the corner of his eye again. “You could.”

“Mhm. ...so, you working on the wall again today?”

“No. I planned on breaking stone to fix the pathways.”

“Want help?”

Glen raised a brow.

“I mean,” Shane amended with a rueful grin, “I know I’m out of that damned sling but-- well, I’m happy to watch you and cheer from the sidelines. Have the whole rest of the day to do it too since it’s Friday. So, want company?”

“Only if it’s yours.”

A lot of the tension started to drain away, spiraling into depths. Yet with this gleeful new turn of emotion, Shane’s tongue decided to try and sabotage it as he asked, “You said you could relate. Can I ask…?”

Like he was dragging heavy stones with the action, Glen slowly looked up to meet his gaze before he spoke softly, “I used to visit the roof of the building I worked at.”

“Did you work in corporate?”

“Support ticket division.” Glen looked away. “Wasn’t always there. Just ended there.”

It was like picking at a scab that wouldn’t come up-- shouldn’t. The conversation was bleeding at the edges, but now that he’d started it he wanted to know. As it was, he could see Glen was closing up. The darkness that had hung over him like a cloud that morning seemed to be returning even as Shane said, “That doesn’t sound too bad. Least you could sit.”

There wasn’t an answer as Glen stared down at his cup.

~

* * *

~

Shane woke to a shade’s echoing howl. At some point while watching Glen work again he must have nodded off-- which seemed to happen more often than he cared for lately as autumn progressed. While he was sleeping, the sky had gotten dark and rain was now pattering down slowly in a gentle drizzle. Nearby, Glen sat at the stairs with one leg dangling out in the rain and Duke lay beside him on the porch.

As he watched, Glen raised something to his mouth again and blew, his cheeks puffing with the action. From whatever he was using the sound of a shade’s call came once again. The sound drove a chill down Shane’s spine as he shifted and scooted over to sit beside Glen.

“What--”

Glen cut him off with a raised hand just as another shade call echoed out of the woods. One, two, three-- more and more calls kept echoing out of the darkness and Shane glanced nervously at Glen only to find that Glen was smiling. It was a small wistful smile.

He blew again and the replies grew in pitch.

Without fully turning to look at Shane, Glen spoke in a soft whisper, “They’re singing about the rain and…” he paused as if listening, “the three shadows.”

“Three shadows?”

Glen’s eyebrows bounced upwards in an almost uncharacteristic show of surprise as he glanced at Shane, “Do you not know the story?”

Shaking his head, Shane leaned against the big dog who was listening to the ‘singing’ with rapt focus.

“My mother used to tell it to me and my sister. I--” Glen shook his head, clearing his throat. “There once were three shadows of the god of time. One danced, one cried, and one simply walked. Each represented a key facet of life. Of joy and sorrow and the journey.”

He paused with a chuckle as the shades got louder again-- this time sounding almost more like a song even if it was a haunting and unnatural sound to be listening to without shuttering the windows. Glen blew another series of notes on the ring he was toying with before he continued, “The shades say it is the tears of the crying shadow that brings water to wash the tops of trees and the fruit they eat. In the story, my mother told, however… well, the shadows wandered the earth for years before the god of time realized that he was missing them. He searched for each of them, finding that in their journeys they’d helped form the world and its creatures. Upon seeing how the world had grown from them-- experiencing joy, sadness, having journeys-- he asked a creature that embodied all these pure virtues naturally to tie them together and wander the land--”

“Oh, I think I do remember this story,” Shane said with a grin. “Though I think I heard a different version. It was the god’s dog, right? How the Cù-sìth was born.”

Glen nodded. “I think it varies but that seems to be the idea.”

“Hm. ...Do _you_ think they’re a holy beast sent to wander the world?” Shane asked with a grin.

“No. Not really,” Glen answered with surprising seriousness. “But anything is possible. I believe they’re simply creatures that people used to worship and tell stories about. Some good, some bad-- just like all the rest.”

Shane, who hadn’t been expecting such a serious answer, scratched under his chin in thought. “Hey, how do you know so much about monsters? I mean-- if you can tell what they’re singing about… how does someone even learn something like that?”

“I studied it. Took a night class to learn how to use a hollow ring." He said holding up the ring for Shane to see. "It’s… useful. I often trade for stones down in the mines with many of the creatures there.”

“Trade? With monsters? You’re… joking, right?”

Glen’s eyes flicked to look at him but there was no joking smile on his lips.

Pushing his hair back, Shane couldn’t help the raise of his eyebrows as he hummed, “Hm. I wonder why more people don’t do that if they can be spoken to.”

“People, by nature, can be cruel,” Glen said, looking away. “At times humans are more monster-like than the creatures they fear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Writer's note-- as someone who is a class A dumbass who does the stupidest shit for people I like... I feel like stripping down and diving into a lake to not only find but wrestle a giant fish for a crush is absolutely something either I'd do or someone who equals my level of dumbassery might do. Haha, either way, the fishing scene might be pretty close to my fav because of that.)


	6. The Past Catches Up

(Image of OC Horus. Painted by B. G. Wolfe. Do not take or repost, Thank you.)

* * *

Shane crunched along the freshly snow-covered path. Even though it was snowy and cold outside, the tickets in his pocket felt like they were burning a hole there as he opened the creaky gate and stepped through. Duke waited for him as usual, ears perked and swiveling where he lay. The dog seemed more reserved than normal today, but Shane figured it was just a combination of the cold air and Duke's tendency to be mellow even on the best of days.

“Hey bud,” Shane greeted, freeing a hand to pat the dog. His hand brushed gently over the scar that ran from just above the dog’s ear to the back of his head as they started the last of the walk together. “Think he’ll say yes?”

Duke, of course, didn’t have an answer.

The thoughts of the tickets came to a halt when he heard a pained grunt and a meaty thump-- that same thump that he remembered from his second visit where Glen had collapsed outside after fighting a golem. Yet… Duke whined, backing away. Shane didn’t heed the dog’s instincts as he sprinted the last of the path and rounded the house to see Glen struggling to get upright as someone stood over him. A hand landed on Shane’s shoulder as he started to pass a guard he hadn't previously noticed-- holding him back and freezing him in fear when he noticed their weapons.

“The warning stands, Avictus. I’m going easy because we were partners--” they paused to give him another vicious kick that sent Glen who’d been slowly getting up, rolling back to lay in a heap in the snow-- “but do it again and next time will be your last. Got it Viccy?”

Glen didn’t move.

Shane stood frozen desperately trying to think of what he could do when they turned. The insignia-- he recognized it. A Joja corp Retriever. They didn’t give him more than a dismissive glance as they walked past. As soon as the Retriever was gone so were the guards. Desperation replaced the terror and Shane sprinted over to kneel beside Glen-- afraid of what he’d find.

“Glen?” he whispered, his hand hovering above the body as he feared the worst.

From the far side, Duke edged out of the forest and made his way over. His black form slinking warily-- almost cat-like-- over the white snow. When he reached Glen, he lay down against the body with a whine. Very slowly, Glen shifted. A pained intake of breath came as he forced himself up and Shane could see his face. To say Glen looked beat to hell and back seemed like an understatement.

“Gods…”

Glen winced, trying to sit up farther than the hunch he’d stopped at. It looked like half his face had battled with a wall-- swollen flesh sagging where it didn’t bleed outright as he mumbled, “Looks worse ‘n it is.”

“You’re drooling blood. I’m pretty sure it looks exactly as bad as it is. I-- I’ll go get hel--”

“It’s fine.”

The answer was a little too rushed and Glen’s hand a little too tight on his arm as he grunted with pain and tried to get to his feet. A tiny surge of anger rose up as Shane snapped, “Like hell it is! You-- they could have killed you!”

“Horus was just proving a point. I’m fine.”

“If that point was that you’re going to need to see a doctor, sure.”

Glen didn’t listen as he got to his hands and knees and grabbed the broken remains of his cane. When he dragged himself up, Shane followed, bracing him as they inched towards the house. The door was ripped off the hinges and lay on the slow at the bottom of the stairs while the kittens peeked in a huddle from the open doorway.

Halfway there, Glen sank back down to his knees with a barely contained hiss as he clutched his side. Feeling useless, Shane flitted nearby as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Cracked rib. One second. Just-- nnngh--”

“Cracked rib?” Shane said feeling both irrationally angry and incredulous. “A cracked rib, you’re covered in blood, and you still think I shouldn’t get the doctor?”

Glen looked up. His hair hung down around his face since it had come loose sometime during the beating and he offered up one of the saddest and most broken smiles Shane had ever seen as he said, “Regulations. He’ll notify the town doctor before leaving. ...if he leaves. Doctor will face a fine from Joja if he treats me. Wouldn’t do that to-- ngh-- to Harvey.”

“FUCK Harvey,” Shane snarled before looking away.

He’d said it but not meant it-- knowing very well that a Joja fine like that could ruin the small clinic which in turn could ruin the town. A Joja doctor could move into that space if Harvey had to leave. One more hook into the town to help bleed it dry.

Now his mind was working overtime as he knelt in the snow waiting for Glen to be ready to move again. The last bit of the fight replayed in his mind as he sat there-- then he realized what he’d heard.

“He said you two had been partners…” Shane said slowly as numb horror began to sink in, and he hoped he was wrong. That he’d misheard.

Kneeling there in the snow, Glen looked much smaller than normal. The dark swelling around his eye and blood from his broken nose couldn’t hide the watery shine to his eyes as he looked up at Shane. “Yes. He did.”

Shane hoped maybe they’d been in marketing or something together instead, but still, he asked, “You were a Retriever?”

Retrievers were some of the most cold-hearted mercenaries tasked with wandering the land. Sure, they’d save your life-- theoretically-- but then they’d charge you for it whether you could afford it or not. If you couldn’t pay the bill they’d come to collect in other ways. Shane had lost his parents to a collection when they’d refused to give him up. The only reason he wasn't raised in a Joja facility was because their deaths paid off the debt.

The hatred beneath the question must have leaked through because Glen looked away as he answered, “I was.”

Suddenly, Shane was finding he didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be anywhere else and drunk. As if being physically repelled, Shane found himself on his feet as he took a step back. The chill of the snow felt as if it was seeping into his very bones as he stood there at war with what to do next.

“Shane?”

He turned to see Harvey standing nearby. The plume of the doctor’s breath rolled up as he panted-- revealing that he’d run there. Feeling like he might vomit if he spoke, Shane used that momentum the Harvey seemed to have brought with him as he walked away. What had started as a hopeful afternoon was now as cold and dead as the white covered world around him. It seemed like no time at all before he found himself in front of the saloon.

Since the accident he still came there-- against his therapist’s advice-- but he’d been sticking to sodas and trying Emily’s different smoothie combinations. Not staying as long as usual. Doing things differently. This time however he walked up to the bar and stared at the worn wood as he said, “Beer.”

“...are you sure--”

“Beer,” he nearly snarled, looking up at Emily with all the turmoil and hate that seemed to have gotten stuck in his chest as his heart tried to crawl out through his throat.

She looked taken aback even as her eyes flicked to something behind him and she spoke softly, “alright, Shane. One beer.”

The tap gave a familiar frothing gurgle as she filled a pint and slid it to him. The moves had an aching horrible familiarness as he stood and stared down at the yellow froth.

“Hah, yeah, I delivered the message. ...uhuh-- yeah. I can. I’ll spend the night here and report in tomorrow.”

The voice came from behind him, and he glanced at the mirror above the bar to see the Retriever who’d been beating Glen now sitting at one of the booths. He was sprawled out like he owned the place and now Shane noticed that things were unusually tense and quiet within the saloon. Not even the Jukebox played as people tucked low in their seats and tried not to be noticed.

With a snap the Retriever-- Horus, Glen had called him-- hung up the little pocket phone and tossed it at one of the guards before snapping his fingers, “Hey, you-- blue hair-- where’s my drink?”

“Just a minute, sir.”

When she walked by it was with a steaming cup of sake on a carefully balanced tray that she slid onto the table before skittering away. Shane could feel the man’s eyes on him. Watching. He didn’t turn though to face him. Didn’t dare. He could barely breathe from the fear that was almost bad enough to make him shake.

“You’re the one he retrieved, aren’t you?”

The question was aimed at him. He knew it was. Still, Shane didn’t turn-- didn’t dare-- as he tried to respond as nonchalantly as possible, “Probably. So?”

Horus barked a laugh but there was no mirth in it-- exactly the way Glens used to sound when they’d first met. “Just wondering.”

Shoving every emotion he had into a tiny mental box and locking it, Shane pulled on his gruffest stockboy persona as he gripped his pint and turned to stare at the man. Horus was built like a brick wall or even a professional gridball player. The jacket strained at the biceps of his arm as he tossed back a drink and met Shane’s gaze equally.

“What’s Avictus to you?” Horus asked.

“Nothing.”

There was a small arch of Horus’ dark brow, his overly-bleached and nearly colorless hair shifting to tickle at his forehead like gossamer threads as he leaned forward with a feral grin-- like a monkey warning someone of its anger.

“Is that right?”

Shane didn’t answer as he brought the pint up to his lips. He couldn’t take a drink though-- the smell hit his nose and he both desperately wanted it and wanted to vomit.

Horus’ smile turned nasty-- more of a sneer than a smile. “He must have really liked you to risk that. I hope you enjoyed my sloppy seconds-- because next time he rescues you, princess, I’m collecting _your_ debt from _his_ skin.”

What came over him-- Shane wasn’t sure. He still wasn’t sure as he sat inside the little clinic and Maru, the volunteer nurse, looked over his nose. Horus had broken it when Shane had dumped the entire pint on the bastard. He wasn’t sure if it was worth it or not. He only mildly regretted not having the guts to ram the glass into the prick’s face-- only knowing Gus was struggling to make ends meet and couldn’t afford to repair the damage from a bad bar brawl had stopped Shane.

“Hmmm I’ve set it as best I can,” Maru said tilting his face to dab at the split in his cheek from Horus' other punch-- the one he'd landed with the hand full of rings similar to Glen's. “I’ll get you patched up but you’ll need to wait till Harvey gets back for any pain medication prescriptions.”

“It’s fine,” Shane said, staring stonily at the wall. “Have some left over from… you know.”

“Yeah… uhm, need me to get Robin to drive you home? Mom’s probably in her workshop prepping lumber for next year right now so I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Winter is always slow for her.”

He finally focused on her. “No. It’s fine.”

How easy it felt to turn off like this. He knew from experience that this feeling wouldn’t last though. This numb anger only lasted so long before… well, before he had a couple six packs and was sitting up atop a cliff.

“He’ll be okay.”

Maru’s voice pulled him out of his suicidal contemplations as he asked, “What?”

“Mr Glen will be okay. Harvey called not long before you arrived to let me know it wasn’t bad enough to bring him in. It seems like a few broken ribs. He's staying over there tonight to make sure there isn't anything more serio--”

The chair squealed with the speed that Shane got up with as he snarled, “I don’t care about that fucking _bastard_.”

Furnace-like, the anger followed him out of the clinic as he stormed down the freshly shoveled streets. It was the first day in ages that people were scarce-- probably in thanks to a Retriever sighting. There was nothing but his anger accompanying him as he took the back way home for the first time in ages.

~

* * *

~

Marnie wasn’t sure what had happened. One day Shane was happy, almost back to how he’d been ages back and finally seemed to be doing better. He’d even stopped drinking. Then he came home with a busted face and a coldness about him that she hadn’t seen since Harvey dumped him. Three weeks later it was worse. He was slipping back into his old habits and had come home with booze for the first time since the accident in the mines.

Instead of drinking said booze, however, he was sitting at the kitchen table simply staring at it.

“Shane?” she called hesitantly, standing in the doorway. She wanted to help-- she really did-- but the kids only barely accepted her as a parent. That and she just didn’t know what to do. As it was, she barely knew what to do with her own life. The only difference between her and her nephew was that she’d had more time to get used to hiding it all.

His breath hitched and he covered his face before breaking into harsh sobs. Still not knowing what to do, Marnie came over and wrapped an arm around him. For nearly an hour he sobbed-- each breath its own private agony as grief finally broiled beyond what even the toughest person could hold. When he calmed down enough, Marnie untangled herself, moved the beers to a cabinet, and set to making hot cocoa.

Shane clutched the cup when she gave it to him like it was a lifeline. It might as well have been. She knew her own grief. The private breakdown she’d had to collect herself from after the news of her sister's death-- and again when her brother was in that accident and suddenly she was left with nothing but a month-old baby and the broken remains of what had once been her family. The tears that sometimes rose up when she wasn’t expecting it-- even nowadays-- and how she’d have to start the shower and use the scant few minutes alone to bawl like a child. They thought she played her music too loudly because she liked to hide singing along. In reality, she needed them to not be able to hear as she shattered and picked herself back up. The only reason she smiled after those showers was because she needed to. The kids needed a beacon of hope in their life after everything they'd been through-- it was up to her to provide that and she took the job as she'd taken all the others.

Sipping from her own mug she asked, “want to talk about it?”

He shook his head but took a deep breath anyhow as he whispered, “I-- it was my fault.”

“What was?”

For the first time in ages, he met her gaze. Fresh tears gathering in the corners of his bloodshot eyes as he said, “When mom and dad died. It was my fault.”

Setting her cup aside, she reached over and clasped his hand. “No, Shane. Honey-- It wasn’t.”

“It was though,” he insisted, knuckles white beneath her hand as he gripped the cup. “I used to want to be a monster hunter so I’d… I’d play in the forest. There was a Retriever-- he’d-- he’d walk me home. I didn’t know-- gods-- I didn’t know he was billing them each time. They begged me not to go out and I’d-- when they couldn’t pay-- I-- and now… I found out he was one of them…”

“Mr Glen?”

He nodded and suddenly things started to make sense.

“And do you blame him?”

“He-- he’s one of _them_.”

“But he isn’t though, Shane. He’s here. Never in his whole time here has he gone into Joja. He never-- you know, maybe he _was_ one but you can’t hate him for that.”

“Watch me,” Shane all but snarled, looking away.

Dreading the question-- and the answer-- she asked, “Then will you hate me as well?”

His rage stuttered as he met her gaze. “What?”

“I was a Retriever. First-Gen. So was your uncle, Jas’ dad.” She kept her tone gentle but it hurt to lay this truth out and that hurt bled into her voice as she took her hand back. Now it was her turn to grip her cup to keep herself grounded as she tried to explain, “When I was younger-- everybody wanted to work for Joja. When it started really taking off Recruiters would visit schools. Not sure if they still do but I signed up because I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life and a few years as a Retriever meant you could get on their discounted college program. It paid for my veterinary degree and I was one until… well, when your grandparents died and left the farm to their kids-- to us-- I volunteered to be the one to come back because I could manage the monsters. Your uncle had joined because he wanted to travel so he stayed. … and Sera…”

Shane looked away at the mention of his mother’s name.

Marnie pressed on though, wishing that things had turned out differently and still somehow thankful that these kids who she adored were in her life. That Jas even called her mom. “Sera just wanted to make music…”

“Do you miss her?”

“All the time. ...Sometimes I even forget she’s gone. When you play your music in your room it filters through the walls-- especially her old records-- and I think it’s her practicing. Just like when we were kids…”

He sniffed, rubbing at his cheek. “So you were a Retriever? Didn’t you ever feel like it was-- like you were--”

“A monster? Yes. ...and no. To be honest I loved it as much as I hated it. It was easier to tell myself that I was saving lives-- and at first, that’s what we did. The prices weren’t so high and we got to help folks. Death rates from monster attacks went down so it was obviously a good thing. But I… I had school to work off. Bills. ...I liked to tell myself that if someone couldn’t afford to pay-- if they didn’t pay when they were given an extension and options-- that they were the bad people.”

“...did you think that when…?”

“When they killed them? Gods no.” Marnie said, staring down at the milky swirl of the remains of a melted marshmallow in her cup. “No… I hated myself for ever thinking that but I didn’t have a lot of time to be sad.”

Shane stared-- unseeing-- at the chicken clock above the sink. Every tick it made in its journey caused the comb atop the chicken’s head to bobble. The silence-- nothing but the soft clucking of the novelty clock-- filled the room until he finally spoke in a quiet voice, “I don’t think I can forgive him.”

The thought was selfish but it bubbled up and out her lips before she could stop it, “Can you forgive me?”

\--* _Please_ *-- she added silently. --* _Please forgive me at least. I can’t lose you too._ *--

“I don’t know.”

Nodding Marnie took a bracing gulp of her cocoa. It was too hot and the heat scalded down her tongue to sit like a swallowed fire in her stomach. Normally she loved chocolate but today it just… tasted like regret. Horrible, sticky, sweet regret. It coated her tongue and choked her as she stared down at the table. There was a crayon heart rubbed into the corner from when Shane was little. Wax that she could scrape up if she really wanted but… she didn’t. It was one more memory imprinted into this house to go with all the others and she loved them all.

“Love is tricky,” she said softly. “Ultimately what you do is your decision but sometimes people do things in their past that they regret. That they have to live with.”

He nodded, not really looking up at her. More minutes ticked by in uncomfortable stillness before he asked, "... Marnie, why don't you fight monsters anymore?"

"Because I need to come home. To you. To Jas."

"I... don't understand."

"About seven years ago your uncle, Keith… he went on a retrieval and didn’t come back. I heard the news from Lori just after she'd announced being pregnant with Jas. It’s more common than people know but sometimes a Retriever can’t beat the monsters out there. They fail. If they aren’t hurt to the point of needing to retire then they’re likely dead. Even if my family was still eligible to get a Retriever’s Death Benefits-- I couldn’t risk not coming home for you and Jas.”

Shane didn't answer. Instead, he nodded, stood, and headed for the door. "I'm going out."

“If you see him--” she didn’t need to specify who she meant-- “just… remember what I said.”

“Uh-huh.”

"Be safe."

"... Yeah."

The silence in the kitchen felt deafening once the door closed and she was left alone. With Jas gone for a sleepover at Vincent’s, there wasn’t even the balming sound of Jas’ humming to herself as she played. Nothing. Just horrible aching empty silence to a house that had once been bursting with sound and life.

Marnie braced her head on her hands as the silence started to remind her of everything she’d given up and lost. Soon she realized that she couldn’t do this. Not again. Not tonight. ....Not alone. Her hand shook as she pulled the phone off the receiver and slowly pulled the old rotary dial for a number she knew by heart. It took two rings before Lewis’ voice answered, “You’ve reached Mayor Lewis.”

“Lewis,” she said softly, fighting tears. “It’s Marnie.”

The phone scuffed as he shifted it to his other shoulder. By the sounds of him moving around, he must have been making dinner. She loved his cooking as much as him-- the man was one of the only people she knew who could do amazing things with a yam.

“Hey darlin,” he said, the tone dropping from brisk to lazier with a hum of happiness that he only used with her. “How’re you tonight?”

“Uhm…”

She could hear as he paused his stirring and the concern in his voice-- it was so clear she could almost picture the way his brows came down and his mustache pushed forward as he asked, “Marn? What’s wrong?”

“I-- I kind of need you. Here.” She swallowed, toying with an old sticker that had been on the phone since Sera put it there when she was thirteen. Her beloved little sister had put stickers on everything after getting a pack for her birthday. Most of them still lingered around little spots in the house. More memories. A tear escaped as she squeezed her eyes shut. “I just-- Please?”

“Shall I bring dinner?”

She sniffled, switching to toying with the cord as relief started to ebb in with the knowledge that he’d come. “If you wanted. I haven’t started anything here.”

“Be there in fifteen.”

“Thanks.”

“Course darlin.”

Soon as he said it, she hung up-- desperate not to hear the click from his end. By the time he arrived, she’d managed to wash her face and calm down. The knowledge of not having to face the old ghosts that haunted this place on her own was enough to pull her out of the despair she’d felt creeping in. His knock was as welcome as a spoonful of melon ice cream on a cold summer day.

When Marnie opened the door, she couldn’t help but pull Lewis in with a hug. Arms wrapped around his waist, the smell of the truffle oil and peppers he liked to cook with, and her cheek against the soft flannel of his jacket-- it helped ease the ache. “Thanks.”

“For you, Marn, anything.”

It wasn’t true but the sentiment helped her feel better anyhow. Maybe one day ‘anything’ would be possible but today she was happy with what they had even if what they had was a secret that the rest of the town wasn’t supposed to know.


	7. End Of Winter

(Image of OC dog Duke. Painted by B. G. Wolfe. Do not take or repost, Thank you.)

* * *

Glen carefully chopped the bits of meat into small squares for the kittens. Well… they were quickly outgrowing ‘kitten’ now but it was fine. They still acted like babies-- probably his fault since he doted on them-- but at least now he didn’t have the brood screaming and trying to climb him like a damn tree while he prepped their food. Instead, they all sat nearby staring expectantly. Waiting.

Each slice was meticulous. It gave him something to do and once he was done with this he began to think that even though it was dark, perhaps he’d go work on splitting firewood. With the trees that had fallen in the fall storms, there was plenty to do even if his healing ribs still gave him trouble. The pain was good though. Gave him something else to think about.

Except that once he started thinking it wouldn’t turn off. 

The magic sparked on the necklace, making it start to feel heavier as he closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. He’d had someone put a curse on it years back but it hadn’t activated until he’d been laying there in the snow watching Shane walk away and there was a feeling like his heart slowly shattering. He’d wanted to call out and beg for him to come back.

He almost had, too.

When he’d opened his mouth, the ring had gotten so heavy he couldn’t breathe as it dragged him down. It had cut into his skin. When Harvey had rolled him over it had sat on his chest and left a small crescent scar above his heart. Bruises around the back of his neck. Dark purple skin. A dip that would never really heal thanks to the magical origin. A reminder not to get close to people-- that doing so would now kill him.

The last cut on the meat was sloppy-- his thoughts jumbling his actions before he scraped it all into separate plates and then started setting them down two at a time. Only the large chunks for Duke remained. He put them into a bowl with some other dog food he'd ordered from Marnie back when he’d gotten hay. Once everything was parsed out he set to washing his hands. The water was cold enough to make his finger joints hurt-- he’d meant to replace the old water heater but with his ribs, he’d had to put the task off again. It was a wonder the pipes hadn’t frozen and he hoped they’d last until spring. At least he had enough wood to constantly have a fire in the fireplace so that the cats wouldn’t get cold.

When that was done, he picked up the bowl and opened the door to find Shane on the other side with his hand raised to knock.

“Er…” Shane said, quickly shoving his hands into his pockets. “Hello.”

“Good evening.”

“...sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your... dinner.”

Glen glanced down at the bowl of raw meat, ground vegetables, and other various clumpy masses. The ring was getting uncomfortable-- the chain felt like it was biting into his neck again as it got heavier-- yet despite it all, he just wanted Shane to stay. No matter how hard he tried to tell himself otherwise, his brain whispered softly of how happy he was to see Shane again.

Trying to ignore the turmoil that made his heart and stomach flop awkwardly, Glen stepped past Shane and down the steps. He still limped but now he didn’t need the cane to move around the house though Harvey had given him another one. The leg was finally healing-- no thanks to Horus. Duke was laying in the doorway to the storage shed beneath a mound of hay-- nearly taking up the whole doorway-- and Glen set the bowl down beside him.

 _\--*Don’t look at him_ *-- he told himself as he studiously tried to avoid looking towards Shane. He was fighting a losing battle though as he finally said, “Heard Horus and you fought.”

Feet crunching on the snow. Scuff of footsteps. The shift of the porch wood as it groaned when Shane leaned on it. Every noise was amplified as Glen tried desperately to keep a lid on himself.

“Didn’t do it for you,” Shane said.

Turning-- not enough to actually see him-- Glen glanced over his shoulder at the wood of the porch, the faded blue of Shane’s jacket in the corner of his eye as he said, “Didn’t say you did. How’s the jaw?”

“Bruises already healed. Sorry to disappoint.”

Glen looked away again. That wasn’t what he meant but Shane was looking for a fight. To some degree, Glen wanted that too. In fact, he wanted Shane to hate him. To hit him. To leave him alone. It was an ugly dark feeling that crept up his chest to nest there with everything he hated about himself.

Closing his eyes, he tried to hold back the words that lurked on his tongue like bad oil. Horrible words. Writhing and slimy. They made him feel sick even as he tried to pick out the ones he hoped would goad Shane. 

“Horus must have been gentle. Didn’t even file a report.”

Shane’s tone was sharp-- more like a warning bark-- as he said, “What?”

Glen stood, pretending to dust himself as he studiously kept from looking towards Shane as he said, “You’re still wearing your Joja collar. Ever the good dog-- even though you picked a fight with a superior.”

He wanted to curse. To prod harder-- but he was holding back. Already it felt like the words had been aimed at him instead. Each one hurt. Ached. He didn’t want to hurt Shane-- just himself. It was as if he was atop the Joja building again as he leaned over the edge. One more step and he’d be the ripped sticker of a heart-- smeared and grey. 

He just had to find the right words to jump.

“Gods you’re such an asshole. I don’t even know why I came here,” Shane muttered, his foot thumping as he kicked the rail. It shuddered, snow sloughing off as the wood hummed and vibrated from the force. Shane’s steps crunched as he started to move away.

“Yeah. Go on then-- go climb back into a damn bottle,” Glen snarled desperately.

Shane stopped.

The internal war was clear even when all that was visible was his back which was still wearing the patchy old Joja jacket even though it wasn’t thick enough to offer protection from the bitter winter cold. Eventually Shane’s fists balled and he turned on his heel to march back to Glen as he snarled, “You have _no_ idea why I do what I do. You can’t judge me-- not after you were one of _them_.”

“Yeah? So I’m one of _them_. What’re you going to do about it? What’re--” he paused, searching for something-- anything-- that might be the push he needed. The answer came like the dim bulb to his cellar lighting up and he gestured back towards Marnie’s farm-- “what’re you going to do next time Jas needs someone to walk her home? Maybe I should start sending a bill--”

The only warning was a blur before Shane’s fist caught him solidly in the face. Glen reeled back as Shane pressed forward with lashes of blind fury. Each hit was solid but wildly untrained-- just meant to lash out. When it seemed like Shane was slowing Glen spat -- blood and spit hitting the jacket to soak in and create a new dark stain.

“Motherfucker,” snarled Shane as he gripped Glen’s shirt with one hand and pulled back his arm to strike.

“Hit me like you mean it,” Glen hissed back-- taking the leap.

Pain. Agony. Blinding sparks of white that filled his vision as he suddenly struggled to breathe. Shane had gone low when he’d expected him to go for the face again. One lucky punch on his healing ribs. He grabbed desperately for Shane like a gasping fish as his knees gave out.

“Fuck-- I’m sorry-- shit--” Shane blathered, easing him down. “I forgot about your rib-- shit--”

His hand was fisted, twisting the worn fabric of Shane’s jacket as he tried to breathe. Tried to fight the pain like he’d been trained. Yet... all he could smell was Shane and Shane-- curse him-- wouldn’t push him away. Wouldn’t leave him to be nothing but broken remains.

“You’re not supposed to care,” Glen rasped, trying and failing to get himself to let go-- to shove Shane away as he whispered, “You’re supposed to hate me. I _need_ you to hate me.”

“...you wanted me to hit you, didn’t you?” The growing realization made Shane's voice soft, almost a caress, as he realized what Glen had been doing.

Glen didn’t answer. Instead he tried to just focus on the pain. To live in it. To ignore how damned heavy the ring felt. Now it felt like a small child hanging off his neck dragging him down. The thin metal bit into his flesh and he tried to simply focus on nothing but the sting as he curled in the snow.

“You bastard,” Shane whispered softly, his forehead bumping softly against the top of Glen’s bowed head.

Hay, eucalyptus, and the faint body odor that comes with something worn too often and needing a wash. It was all Glen could smell. It engulfed him. Like a knife in the chest, it reminded him of their first kiss-- just missing the smell of booze. How desperate he’d been-- enough that he didn’t care what Shane might think in the morning because at that point Shane was just a willing body. Lips with chapped patches. Rough hands. Soft stomach. Firm thighs. Bruised knees. Glen had been too drunk and numb to care beyond the physical pleasure. Perhaps they both had been.

Like a junkie who’d gotten a taste of an old drug-- Glen had wanted more. Wanted to give himself over to the fanciful ideas in his head about love. Even that morning as he started to feel guilty-- he’d wanted it to be more than a one night stand. The smell of Shane and sex had lingered on the sheets till he’d caved to wash them. Wanted to soak in Shane’s presence whenever it was offered like an eggplant in a brine bath. 

He didn’t dare look up. Not with his stinging eyes as heat crushed his throat and the ring reminded him what loving someone-- what trusting someone-- brought him. If he looked up now, he knew his traitor heart too well and how it would flutter. How it would beat against the bars of its cage and beg to be given away. How he might cave.

The pain was finally fading enough that he was able to force himself to let go of Shane’s jacket. Once the fabric no longer held him there, he pushed Shane away. “Just go.”

Ignoring him, Shane returned and twined his arm with Glen’s as he started trying to pull him to his feet. “Inside. Come on.”

“Why won’t you leave me alone?!” The words came out broken and ragged-- and then he made the mistake of looking up. Shane’s dark grey eyes-- nearly pitch black in the evening gloom-- stared down at him.

His breath hitched and it wasn’t just from his injured ribs. Every prayer he could think of was a mixture of begging for Shane to leave and pleading for him to stay. It was almost too much. He hadn’t even cared for Horus this desperately even though they grew up watching out for each other. He blinked rapidly, looking away as he started to lose the battle and a cold wet track marked a treacherous path down his cheek.

As Glen looked away, Shane slowly sank back down to his knees beside him. His voice was soft-- like a confession in a crowded room but it was only them and the silence of the newly falling snow, “I wanted to.”

Shane’s hand brushed at the cheek, smearing the wetness on to the greying wool of his gloves and Glen flinched. Everything in him screamed to lean into that touch. Instead, he leaned away. His voice came out as broken as he felt, “I need you to hate me. Just--”

Voice finally boke-- shuddering with emotion he couldn’t hide-- and he couldn’t continue. Nor could he make himself move away as Shane’s forehead came to press against his.

“I tried to hate you. Told myself you were unforgivable.”

“I am.”

Shane’s lips were close now. Too close. Breath warm against chilled skin. His voice little more than a whisper, “No you’re not.”

At one time there had been an old pianist who lived in the apartment above Glen. Day in and out they’d play. Soft music building till it became erratic and hard-- a heartbeat you could feel in your nerves. Something about it was both terrifying and magical. As Shane gently pressed his lips against Glen’s the feeling was roughly the same. _Please hate me_ \-- _please never leave_ \-- his own jangled chords hummed discordantly under his skin as he tentatively kissed back.

“I think I like you,” Shane whispered as he pulled away, “and I can’t stay away.”

Glen couldn’t reply, both the curse and his own issues blocking him from speaking it, but inside he was saying the same. --* _I think I like you too_ *-- he pleaded silently with his eyes--* _but I’m not allowed to_.*-- 

Even having it silently admitted was another pound to the curse. Another reminder of why he’d put it on. One step closer to the edge he inevitably teetered at.

Shane gulped. Looking away as he fought his own emotions, “You don’t...you don’t have to say it back but I wanted to tell you. I’ve wanted to tell you for a while. I-- Come on. We should go inside. You’re kind of bleeding.”

This time, when Shane moved to help him up, Glen let him. Every move was agony. Weighted. The ring pulled him down as he fought to stay up and together they limped inside.

Raising his arm was nearly impossible with the rib re-cracked so he found himself forcefully seated on a throne of pillows atop the bed as Shane dabbed cream onto the fresh bruises and wiped at the blood with a washcloth. His hands were not gentle. Each touch was a reminder of the agony Glen deserved.

Dabbing the cloth near his neck Shane asked, “What’s this from? You’ve got a cut here.”

Glen looked down at the chain-- at the curse that now would slowly kill him the more he loved and trusted. The same curse that-- like any cursed item-- couldn’t be seen, touched, or removed by others once it activated.

“Just a scratch.”

“Bullshit-- the bruise runs-- you know what? Nevermind. … You hungry?”

Glory, the calico kitten who’d previously been nothing more than what looked like a wrinkly paint blob, hopped up onto the bed. her twiggy legs kneaded at his thigh with claws that could use another trim as Glen tried to find his voice. “Have some leftovers in the fridge.”

“...uh-huh. Alright,” Shane paused, standing as he tossed the rag into the basket of dirty laundry. It hit the side, sliding off and onto the floor as he sighed, “Guess I’ll be going then.”

“Or you could stay,” Glen said, trying not to wince as the necklace cut a little deeper. He tried to reason it away as he nodded towards the window and said, “Started snowing. Supposed to storm tonight. Better to stay here till morning.”

Shane crossed his arms, looking at the floor. “You sure that would be okay?”

“... I enjoy your company.”

He’d said that line before and now here it was again like a heart laid bare. It might as well have been in his hands. Beating. Waiting. When Shane looked up it was with a crooked tiny smile. 

“So you’ve said.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note-- Fun fact but I think this is the first time I have ever painted a dog. XD It came out alright but it could definitely be better.


	8. Picnic Blues

(Image of Stardew Valley Vincent. Painted by B. G. Wolfe. Do not take or repost, Thank you.)

* * *

Much to Shane's annoyance and dismay, the retriever, Horus, didn't move on. Instead, he took to lurking in the Joja mart, saloon, and patrolling the town. No one in town dared to venture outside their borders for fear of being charged and the mood in the saloon was tense. Friday's at the saloon were the most somber Shane had ever seen as people kept their weekend celebrations muted. A hush fell over the town even as the normally highly anticipated Egg Festival began to approach.

While normally folks would hold crafting parties for the event’s celebrations-- taking over several of Gus’ booths in the Stardrop Saloon-- the crafting groups now took to huddling in Marnie’s kitchen. Since Shane wasn’t interested in being roped into preparations he took their meetings as an opportunity to visit Glen where he felt more welcome. At least… normally.

Today he was less sure that he’d be welcome as he walked with Jas and Vincent up the winding path that led to Glen’s house. In an unexpected turn, Penny had been unable to watch the kids-- stuck in bed with a cold-- and since the meeting at Marnie’s this time was to help plan Vincent’s birthday party they needed the kids to be somewhere else.

If he didn’t love Jas so much, he would have been more irked about being forcibly volunteered for babysitting duty. As it was, he was only worried about what Glen would think. Jas and Vincent were skipping behind him as they walked. Each of them wore a new pair of butterfly wings they’d hand-painted the week before-- though Vincent adamantly claimed that his was of a moth-- and Shane was left to carry the backpack full of the impromptu picnic Marnie had helped put together.

“Are you and Avi gonna get married?” Jas asked rather suddenly when they rounded the bend in the path and the old farmhouse came into view. “Can I be your ring bearer?”

“That’s stupid,” Vincent interjected. “Only boys can be ring bearers. _Girls_ do the flowers.”

“ _You’re_ stupid! I can be a ringbearer if I want!”

Shane, who’d had the ill timing to be trying to step over a log at the time, tripped and only barely caught himself from going sprawling on the dirt road. He shot them a bewildered look as he asked, “What?”

“Married? You two love each other right?” Jas said, dropping the fight easily as she looked at Shane with deceptively innocent eyes.

He could feel the blush creeping up his neck into his cheeks and ears as he struggled to both not think about how he felt and how to deny --everything-- without now being teased by two seven-year-olds about his barely existent love-life. Not to mention that every time he and Glen kissed now-- and they certainly had kissed more than a few times since their big fight-- Shane was always left hoping that Glen would return his feelings. It was hard not to feel like everything was one-sided when he was the only one saying sappy shit.

Shane inevitably decided to deal with it the best way any adult who’s not a parent could-- bribery. He pulled out his wallet, opened it, and held out a gold piece for each of them as he said, “I will give you each these right now to buy treats at Pierre’s later if you both promise not to say anything about me getting married or love for the entire rest of the day. Deal?”

Both Jas and Vincent beamed as they started to reach for the coins but Shane pulled it away as he asked again, “Deal? You have to promise or I’ll take it back.”

“Promise!” They both chimed, snagging the bribe and running away with giggles.

As Shane straightened, he mentally made a reminder for himself to ask Sam why Vincent had been very adamant about gender roles lately. Though he and Sam didn’t hang out outside of work, Shane had never known Sam or Jodi to try and enforce that type of behavior with Vincent. However, that was the third fight today between Jas and Vincent-- the previous ones being about the wings-- and Shane had a growing suspicion that someone had said something to the kid. Not that he wanted to poke at how someone's kid was being raised but when it caused the two to fight-- Shane knew he'd have to find the source and hopefully talk it out with them.

Duke was asleep on the porch with the cats as they approached. The dog took up most of the porch with his size and Shane had to propel the kids forwards as he said, “That’s Duke. Duke is a good dog. Common--”

Both Jas and Vincent dug in their heels, grabbing his hands as they decided to not go any further. At the risk of having both kids decide that this was no longer fun or even that they might start crying, Shane held still as he said, “It’s fine. I promise. Duke only looks scary but is a _very_ good dog.”

Vincent, who hadn’t sucked his thumb in a very long time, had his thumb nervously hovering near his lips as he said, “I bet it could eat you in a single bite, Jas.”

“Two at least,” she huffed before taking a deep breath. “I’m not scared.”

He tucked away his thumb, looking angry and determined as he said, “Me neither! Only girls are afraid of dogs!”

“Then I guess you’re a--”

Shane squeezed her hand, cutting her short as he looked down at her and shook his head. If she said what he _KNEW_ she was going to say and made Vincent cry now then the rest of the day was going to be tense and miserable. She pouted up at him, her lip quivering along with her scowl.

“How about this, I will call Duke here and we all can stand real still while Duke says hello. We don’t have to move at all and if either of you are scared then I’ll pick you up. Okay?”

Jas pulled her hand away, crossing her arms. “I’m not a baby. I’m seven.”

“Okay, do you want to go up to Duke and say hello first then?”

“... no.”

Shane sighed before giving a whistle and patting his leg. “Duke, here bud. Come say hello.”

Duke very slowly dislodged himself from the pile of cats and got up, padding down the stairs that groaned as he stepped down them and slowly over to them where he flopped over with a talkative grumble-- feet sticking up in the air and tail slowly thumping the ground as he looked at them upside down. If he wasn’t so massive it would have been cute.

Shane didn’t even have to kneel down to pat the massive barrel of a chest because even laying down Duke seemed to have enough height to him that Shane only had to slightly bend at the waist. In fact, it looked like the already massive dog had grown recently. Shane gave the dog a pat-- noting that there was a scar that puckered the fur on his side-- and set to scratching Duke’s tummy idly as he smiled at the kids. “Its okay. I promise. He’s a very good boy.”

The first to edge forward was Vincent. He shot a nervous glance at Jas who stood anxiously twisting the hem of her dress before stepping forward and giving the dog a few hasty pats and backing away. Jas was next, petting the fur as she said, “He’s as big as Mini. I thought dogs were smaller than horses.”

“Sometimes. Duke is a very special dog though. Alright, now I’m going to go in and see if Glen wants to come with us, do you want to wait here with Duke or come with?”

“Come with!” They chimed, still obviously nervous about the big dog who rolled over carefully and lay with his head in his paws and sad eyes as he watched them go.

Shane nodded, pushing up from his crouch as he took the lead to the front door that was propped open so that Duke and the cats could wander in and out as they pleased. He knocked on the doorframe as he peeked in. “Glen?”

“Here. Be out in a minute,” Glen called back from the bathroom.

Before Shane could warn him that he wasn’t alone, Glen stepped out of the bathroom. While Shane appreciated that Glen was in nothing but a towel--he also knew this wasn’t the time for such appreciations. At Jas’ giggle, Glen froze-- the smaller towel atop his head blocked his face mostly from view as he stared at them. Then he slowly backed away into the bathroom and shut the door.

Shane turned and shooed the kids out as he said, “Why don’t you two see if there are any fish or cool frogs in Mr Glen’s pond? I’ll be there in a minute.”

Earlier fears of the dog quickly forgotten, both kids bounded off with giggles as Shane turned back into the house and slunk up to the door. He gave the bathroom door a soft knock as he said, “I sent them out to the pond with Duke. Sorry about that.”

The door slid open and though it was hard to tell with Glen’s dark skin, Shane could swear the man was blushing. In fact, he looked the most flustered Shane had ever seen and he couldn’t help as he leaned in and gave him a chaste kiss as he said, “I appreciated the view, however.”

Glen cleared his throat, not meeting his eyes as he said, “Bottle in the storage room fell on me and broke. Truffle oil maybe. Didn’t plan to be taking a shower this late…” He paused, glancing at Shane finally and his expression softened. “Glad you appreciated it though.”

With so much bare skin-- it was more than Shane could resist as he slowly slid his hands onto Glen’s hips. He could feel the quirk of Glen’s lips as he relented to another kiss. Shane managed to forget all about the children up until another peal of giggles made Glen stiffen and then there was a ‘shushing’ war from both kids as they broke into more muffled giggles.

Glen pulled away with another awkward clear of his throat as he maneuvered to be less visible from the doorway and asked, “So, what brings you here?”

There was more behind the question. Specifically, Shane knew it was ‘what brings you here with two kids in tow’. Shane grimaced as he explained, "Penny was sick. They're having a, uh, s-u-r-p-r-i-s-e--” he traced each of the words out in the air to make sure he was spelling it right as he said it-- “p-a-r-t-y planning session at the ranch, so I agreed to take them on a picnic. I wanted to know if you wanted to come?"

Glen stared in his usual impassive manner before giving a slight nod. “Alright. Let me get dressed.”

Casting a final glance at the doorway, Shane made sure the coast was clear before he leaned in and gave Glen another kiss. Though Glen never seemed to initiate-- he never pulled away and allowed Shane to indulge as much as he wanted. While they hadn’t really gone on dates Shane had started to hope that they might soon. That they could be a couple-- even as dysfunctional as they were-- because being near Glen made Shane feel… better. About everything. At least most of the time. He knew his depression-- now diagnosed-- would always be a problem and that there would be bad days but things, well, they still felt better when he was with Glen.

As he bit at Glen’s lip and tried desperately to tuck away the creeping feeling of ‘I want to climb you like a tree’, he realized he could smell the truffle oil and that Glen’s hand had come to rest at the small of his back just below the backpack. The way he held him was gentle-- tugging him in farther while offering no resistance if he should pull away-- until there was a scuff at the front door and Glen retreated like a startled hermit crab to hide with a nod of his head towards the entry.

Taking the hint, Shane adjusted his crotch before turning and heading out. The kids-- of course-- were lurking just outside the door which was ‘guarded’ by Duke who they seemed to be getting over their fear of since they were both half sitting on him. Both the kids gave off giggles as they leaped off the porch and ran towards the pond.

“Some guard you are,” Shane muttered.

Duke snorted, his tail thumping on the porch’s wood as he gave a soft answering ‘woof’.

It didn’t take long for Glen to emerge-- his cold-weather bomber jacket over a surprisingly ratty looking skin-tight tee-shirt and a pair of black slacks. Shane also realized that Glen had his sword. The thick band sat prominently over his shoulder and Glen approached at a gentle gait-- his limp nearly almost gone though he still obviously wore the brace beneath his clothes-- as he came to stand nearby.

Jas ran up, holding a massive frog out as she said, “Avi, Avi, look what I caught!”

Glen crouched, his hands deftly pulling up his leggings so that he could move as he looked the frog over. “Impressive specimen.”

It really was. The frog was nearly the size of a dinner plate and its legs drooped down all the way to the ground from where Jas held it aloft. It gave a baleful ‘huwruuu’ of a croak before Jas asked, “What’s the fancy name for this one?”

“Rana catesbeiana, a bullfrog,” Glen answered before his head tilted and he asked, “Did you paint your wings yourself?”

She nodded. A sharp bob of her head that dipped the frog in the air as she said, “It's the, uhm-- Ci-thair-eyes Pee-reat-ah.”

Glen’s lip twitched as he corrected, “Cithaerias Pireta, the blushing phantom. You did well. It’s very pretty.” His gaze switched to Vincent as he said, “I like your wings as well Vincent.”

Vincent, looking more cowed than usual, mumbled his thanks as he looked away. Jas took the opportunity to lean in as she loudly whispered, “He picked out the H-e-l-icnus doris from your book.”

“A regal and fine choice. That must have been very fun to paint.”

Vincent nodded before asking, “Did you really see them, sir? Down in the mine?”

“Not this mine,” Glen said, pushing slowly to stand. “But yes. There was a very large underground cavern where many of the butterflies had formed their own ecosystem with the local jellies.”

“But--” Vincent took a deep breath before shooting Jas a glare-- “if they were underground and in the dark doesn’t that make them moths?”

To Shane’s surprise, Glen chuckled before he tipped his head towards the house. After Jas put the frog back by the pond and rinsed her hands in the water, they all followed. Glen didn’t lead them inside however and instead led them around the back to the shed where he reached up.

Where Shane had previously not noticed it-- the shape blending almost perfectly with the old wood-- was a massive moth. Glen gently let it crawl on his hand and he moved it down to where the kids could see as he spoke, “Moths and butterflies both belong to the order Lepidoptera-- which is an order of insect-- but they are not quite the same. While some cavern butterflies may be easily mistaken as moths there are differences. For example, while they rest moths like to spread their wings out while butterflies will fold them upwards. Another difference is their antennae. Butterfly antennae are thin with club-shaped tips, compared with the feathery antennae of moths. Moths are stout and fuzzy; butterflies are slender and smooth.”

As Shane marveled how eager the children seemed to listen-- and how eager Glen seemed to talk. As the moth moved across his hand, Glen slowly rotated it to keep the moth in view and there was a faint smile on his lips. Shane wondered who Glen might have been if he hadn’t gotten pulled into the Joja machine-- something he had to admit that even he hadn’t escaped. The same gentleness that Glen now displayed with the moth was what had really drawn Shane in. It was the same way Glen adopted the massive stray dog who’d lurked at the edge of his property and took in a basket of cats-- even making them sweaters.

Glen moved the moth back to the wall and it crawled back onto the warm wood to return to its slumber as he moved to point to something else on the wall. It was a woody looking lump that no one would have noticed if they hadn’t been looking for it.

“The pupal stage between larva and adult is different as well. This is a cocoon-- which moths make. Moths make cocoons that are wrapped in silk coverings. Butterflies, on the other hand, form chrysalises, which are hard, smooth and silkless. There are also other differences between them but with time and experience you can tell which are butterflies and which are moths. Both are beautiful creatures and very useful.”

“How do you know so much about Lepi...lepidop…”

“Lepidoptera,” Glen said patiently before shrugging. “You learn things as you get older.”

“Lepidoptera sounds like a dinosaur,” Jas said before pausing thoughtfully, “Have you ever seen a dinosaur in the caves? Have you ever _fought_ a dinosaur?”

Glen hummed, scratching at his stubble before giving a solemn nod. “Yes. However--” he turned and looked at Shane-- “did we have to hike to where we are to picnic?”

“Ah,” Shane grinned and nodded at the path heading North from Glen’s farm. “We were going to picnic on the island next to Robin’s place and then go to the hot springs to swim. …You have any swim trunks?”

Glen blinked at him and was silent. The silence stretched for a beat. Two. Three. Shane was resolving to sit out with Glen instead of soak before Glen suddenly turned and headed back around his house. When Glen next emerged he had a small pack on the same side as the sword and he gave a nod. “Alright. I am ready. Shall we go?”

They lingered only long enough for Jas to wash her hands -properly with soap- at Shane’s insistence before they were off. The spring day was chilly in shady spots and pleasantly warm in the sun. It made walking the path up the hill an interesting game for the kids as they tried to hop from sunny spot to sunny spot.

There was no hopping from Shane or Glen though and they meandered behind-- shadowed by Duke who padded along at Glen’s side. Shane fisted his hands and shoved them deep in his pockets to keep himself from reaching for Glen’s hand. It wasn’t like they’d held hands in the past but his brain nagged him both about how nice it would be and how embarrassing it would be if Glen pulled away.

He was rescued from his thoughts as Jas and Vincent gave a shout and popped from behind the bushes.

“Avi” “Mr Avi” “Avi come look what we found!” They both clamored, Vincent picking up on calling Glen ‘Avi’ from Jas in his excitement.

Glen ambled over to look at what they had found-- it was a butterfly, of course, and it had landed very primly on Vincent’s wings as both the kids stared.

“What’s this one?” Jas whispered, trying to inch closer but obviously not wanting to scare it.

Glen seemed to have no issue with possibly scaring it as he simply put his hand out and let the resting bug crawl onto him. He looked at it too and fro before saying, “Papilio glaucus-- a tiger swallowtail. Jas, do you remember what one from the book is similar to this?”

Though Jas had spoken animatedly of the few times that Glen joined them on their nature walks, Shane still wondered when it was that Glen had taught them about butterflies-- and what book the kids had referenced-- but he still felt a sense of pride as Jas dutifully answered, “A giant swallowtail is similar in shape, a Monarch is similar in color?”

“Indeed. There are many types of butterflies that can look similar but those are the most commonly known.”

The butterfly took off and they all watched it flutter up into the upper bows of the trees.

“Mr Avi,” Vincent started to say before Jas cut him off with a hiss.

“--I told you he said only I could call him Avi.”

Glen stopped the fight, raising his hands as he said, “It’s alright Jas. I said that only my friends could call me that-- and we’re all friends here. Did you have a question, Vincent?”

Vincent nodded, “do you have a favorite butterfly, sir?”

“I do. It’s called the battus philenor-- also known as the pipevine swallowtail.” Glen nodded and got them walking again as he talked, “It’s fairly large, the upper wings are purple-- though often it can be dark enough that it’s mistaken as black-- and the lower section is blue. Along the lower edges of both wings there are small white dots. The underside of the wings are blue with orange dots. …My grandfather used to raise them in his garden.”

“How do you raise a butterfly?”

“Well, there are a lot of factors but from what I understand you need to make sure you first are growing the type of plant they like to eat. You can make an enclosure-- much like you would for chickens or cows-- to keep them safe. Then you’d need to find some caterpillars and raise them. I’m sure there is more to it but I’ve never raised butterflies myself.”

“...So… what’s someone who raises butterflies called?”

“I don’t know. Next time I’m in the library I will ask Gunther.”

That seemed to satisfy the kids as they ran off ahead once more. With the kids gone and no butterflies to occupy them, Shane was left feeling like the quiet was too much. He crossed his arms, watching the road beneath his feet as he asked, “Do you want _me_ to call you Avi?”

When he chanced a glance, he saw that Glen was watching him from the corner of his eyes-- the same expression he’d had with the butterfly on his face. As soon as he realized that Shane was looking, however, Glen’s face schooled to its usual impassive mask as he shrugged. “If you’d like.”

Shane swallowed, looking away. He wasn’t sure if he wanted that, even if ‘only friends’ could use the name. He’d heard Horus call him Avictus and hadn’t even wondered if that was Glen’s first name. Was this Glen’s way of saying he’d prefer it if that was what Shane called him?

Did Horus call him Avi?

They’d been partners-- but had they been friends?

The thoughts swirled like turbulent starlings in his head.

The rest of the walk was fairly quiet. The kids didn’t find any more animals-- though not for lack of looking. Shane was sure that their laughter and running had scared most wildlife away. By the time they reached the favored picnic spot the sun was high in the sky and it was the perfect time to rest.

Jas’ oldest fleece blanket-- bright pink unicorn shining upwards-- served as their barrier between them and the sharp crabgrass as Shane passed out sandwiches. To his surprise, however, Glen opened his bag and passed out several cans. They were not soda though.

Melon flavored sparkling water went to the kids who ‘oo’ed over it as he handed canned coffee over to Shane. It was the same non-joja brand that he’d brought down to Shane on the night that he’d been fishing. The unopened can from that night still sat on Shane’s dresser. He’d go to sleep staring at it-- wondering if the future really held anything for them or if this was a passing dream like all the others.

Glen tipped his head, his words meant only for Shane as he spoke softly, “I brought more water as well if you wanted one of those instead.”

The kids, munching their sandwiches and throwing their crusts to the passing fish, were oblivious as Shane chuckled and said, “No. I was up stupidly early. This is perfect. Thanks.”

Glen nodded and leaned back. Sprawled as he was, his back against Duke, Glen looked both at ease and completely out of his element. If they had been alone Shane could picture how he’d pin Glen down. _Grass stains on the knees. He’d kiss his way down Glen’s neck_ \-- he pulled himself from the daydream as he busied himself with looking in the bag for what else Marnie had packed.

They were mostly through lunch when the kids rounded on Glen once more. “Mr Avi, you said you’d seen a dinosaur. What kind of dinosaur?”

Glen, who’d switched to leaning against Shane at some point-- his body warm where it pressed against him-- set aside the grapes he’d been idly picking at as he said, “A Beithir.”

Both kids frowned, sharing a dubious look before Vincent said, “Not a T-Rex?”

Chuckling, Glen sat up-- cold air replacing where he’d been against Shane. “No. Older breeds of Dinosaur like the T-Rex went extinct. The only ones left are very dangerous monsters who live below grounds like the Grootslang-- which I have also seen-- and the Beithir.”

“And you fought one?”

“I did.”

“What’s it look like? Do you have any scars from it? Did you kill it and take a tooth to put on a necklace? Penny let us watch a movie about monster hunters and they all liked to take a part of their toughest kills as a trophy. Do you have any trophies?”

Glen simply stared at them. Unlike the butterflies, he seemed more hesitant to talk about it before he reached over and pulled up his shirt. On his side was a fresher looking scar-- it was faint and spiderwebbed out in a vicious pink pattern that stood out faintly against his skin just under the tattoo. Shane had noticed it in the past but he was surprised to be finally hearing what it was from.

After the kids had looked at the scar, he lowered his shirt and said, “Beithir are massive lizard-like creatures that spit a paralyzing electric venom barb. The only way someone can live is if they wash the venom off and pull the barb out before they succumb to it and are eaten. I did not kill it. I do not take trophies.”

They looked like they were going to launch into a new torrent of questions-- and Glen was looking like he didn’t want to answer more-- so Shane jumped in before they could start. “Why don’t you two see if you can find a stick big enough for Duke to play with while Glen and I pack up and then we can head to the hot springs to swim?”

Jas and Vincent both scampered off-- Duke resolutely following after them as they ran across the bridge to the next island-- and he could see as Glen visibly sagged. Shane couldn’t help but stare as Glen slowly began to gather things up, folding them dutifully, and putting them into the backpack. Even though Glen looked almost as impeccable as usual, he also looked more tired. Shane also was still curious about the outfit-- which wasn’t any of the pieces that he’d seen Glen previously wear.

Was their tentative relationship keeping Glen up at night as well? Was that why he looked tired or was it something else? Was it because he was unhappy?

Something else?

“Shane, you alright?” Glen asked and Shane realized that he’d mentally wandered off as Glen cleaned up around them.

All that was left to do was fold up the blanket and Shane hastily scrambled off it, grabbing his side of the corners while Glen matched him. As they gave the blanket a shake and then folded it towards each other, Shane said, “Yeah. I’m good. I was just thinking. That a new outfit?”

“No. I need to do laundry.”

Their hands brushed-- feather-light touches as Glen handed over his corners of the blanket-- and Shane hastily folded the rest and shoved it into the bag. By the time he had the backpack on, Glen was standing at the edge of the island-- hands in his pockets, sword and now smaller pack on his back and soft expression on his face as he stared out at the water.

Shane eased up next to him as he asked, “Are _you_ alright? You seem a little tired. If you wanted to head home, I’d understand.”

Taking a deep breath, Glen closed his eyes. Shane almost thought he wasn’t going to answer but when he did-- the answer surprised him. “I am happy to be here. With you. I prefer this.”

Glen turned-- almost abruptly-- and slid a finger under Shane’s chin, tilting it up to capture his lips in a quick kiss before once more turning away as he headed across the bridge and gave a whistle. Both kids and dog came bounding-- new stick dutifully clasped in Duke’s mouth-- leaving only Shane to try and catch up.

~

* * *

~

Glen set his stuff into the locker and closed it to find Horus on the other side, leaning against the wall as he ate nuts and cast the shells to the floor with careless ease. He’d known that Horus was shadowing them for a while-- though why he wasn’t sure.

“Still wearing it I see,” Horus said, his brow arching as he nodded towards Glen’s chest.

Glancing down at the ring, Glen barely spared more than a passing thought on the fact that Horus could see it-- since Horus was the reason he’d gotten it enchanted in the first place, that was unsurprising. “I am.”

“Still pining over me then?” Horus smirked. “Or just like the weight?”

“What do you want, Horus?” Glen asked, crossing his arms as he refused to play Horus’ game.

“What? We can’t chat like old friends?” Horus asked back, his hand reaching out to trail a finger along a scar on Glen’s shoulder.

Glen caught his hand, his grip firm as he said, “No. We cannot.”

“Tch.” Horus jerked his arm back and Glen enjoyed the small satisfaction from seeing Horus give the skin there a rueful rub-- his victory both in knowing his grip had been tight enough to hurt and that Horus had shown it. Horus recovered by dusting the last of the salt from his hands before flicking an idle finger over some of the building’s peeling paint. “So tense. You’d think you’d be thankful I agreed to be stationed out here to protect this little town while you healed.”

“And yet you never venture near the mines.”

Horus’ eye flashed-- his white-hot anger had always been close to the surface. A temper as bright as his hair. Glen had thought it made him passionate back when they were together-- a hot to Glen’s cold-- but recently he’d realized that it had just been cruelty.

That cruelty came back as Horus pulled back to strike with a heavy backhand that Glen caught-- his own icy temper making his gaze hard and grip harder as he squeezed Horus’ wrist. “Back off, Horus.”

“Or what?” Horus hissed, the fear on his face only barely masked as he fought Glen’s grip.

Laughter from the children made Horus’ eyes slide to behind him and Glen knew Horus well enough to know that Horus was not below hurting kids. That he’d even do it to get to Glen. The realization pulled his attention away just long enough for Horus to slip loose. His knuckles-- dusted with heavy and enchanted rings much like Glen’s-- hit Glen squarely in the face before Horus slammed him against the wall. His voice an angry whisper and he held him there as he said, “You’ll slip up eventually, Viccy, and I’ll be waiting. I’ll even write the bill myself instead of sending it in. You know it’s what you deserve.”

“The hell are you doing?!” Shane’s voice echoed on the hard tile and Glen only barely reached out a hand to stop him in time though Shane strained against his grip. “You--”

Glen turned, one hand cupped over his fresh injury and the other holding Shane’s shoulder as he gave a shake of his head. It was revealing to see that Shane’s fury wasn’t the same as Horus’. It was full of both outrage and worry and he looked torn between wanting to beat Horus-- which would go poorly for Shane even if Horus was more hot air than skill-- and wanting to check on Glen.

Horus backed away, an ugly leer on his face as he raised his hands and backed towards the door, “Just saying hello, Princess. Don’t mind me. And Viccy? Nice shorts.”

Once Horus was gone, Glen turned, ambling over to the seating near where the children played before he sagged, easing himself down on the bench with a sigh. Between the late nights patrolling the town’s edges and the weight of the curse, he felt… thin. Over stretched. Bone tired. Too tired to do a lot of the chores around the house like laundry which was why he’d ended up wearing the bottom of the drawer mess.

He didn’t even realize that Shane was tilting his head to look at his likely broken nose and freshly split lip until Shane gave a displeased hiss. “That bastard. The hell does he have against you anyhow?”

It was asked like Shane didn’t expect an answer and Glen… he wasn't sure he was going to give one even after Shane left and then returned with a wet washcloth that he dabbed at the blood.

“We were engaged,” Glen said, not meeting Shane’s eyes as he instead watched the kids who had somehow snuck Duke in and were trying to coax him into the warm water of the children’s pool. An action the large dog adamantly refused as he sat stoically by the water’s edge. With the new stick ‘coaxing’ had turned into a game as both children hung from the stick and giggled madly as Duke held them aloft.

Shane’s hand paused, his expression unreadable before he asked, “He still mad you broke it off or something?”

Glen blinked, his gaze switching to Shane. “Yes.”

“...Hn. Glad my Ex wasn’t as much of an asshole. Though… he _was_ the one to break it off. Guess you finally realized he was a class A jerk?”

“No,” Glen swallowed, trying to muster the words as he said, “No, for a long time I thought it was me. I’d… done something. He’d called it unforgivable. I’d--” the words were hard to get out. Sticky. Like taffy. They pulled at somewhere deep within his chest as he fought to continue, “I’d believed him. Perhaps… still do.”

~

* * *

~

Shane stared down at Glen, the washcloth in his hand as he dabbed up the blood, the drip of water down his wrist-- all of it felt too familiar. A bad mirror of the times before.

_‘-Told myself you were unforgivable.’_

_‘I am.’_

The broken and rasped words from their winter fight sprang to memory along with the haunted look in Glen’s eyes. On one hand… Shane didn’t want to know. Wanted to forgive, forget, and move on-- especially since there was a chance that Glen truly was unforgivable. Shane feared that he might learn about something-- something truly horrible-- and he’d never be able to look at Glen the same way even if lately it felt like Glen was that very beat of his damn heart.

And yet, he still found himself asking, “What did you do?”

Glen shook his head, lips pressing tight as his shoulders slumped. There was something so exhausted about him that Shane felt bad for asking even if he felt like he _needed_ to know.

“There was--” Glen paused grimacing. That action re-split his lip and mixed with the blood from his nose in a fresh trickle that dripped down his chin, pattering on to the ridiculous neon fruit patterned swim trunks the Glen had changed into when they’d arrived. “Reports. We-- _**I**_ underestimated what the situation called for. Brought only one other team to secure a town that was going to be in danger.”

Leaning forward, Glen braced his head on his hands as he leaned forward. Staring at the floor, he spoke in a hollow voice, “Forty-seven people died because of my mistake-- two of them Retrievers. I couldn’t bear to charge the few townspeople who survived… so I--”

Glen’s voice broke-- like he was struggling to just get out the words.

“You’re the one who wrote the false report,” Shane said, his throat feeling tight.

Glen didn’t deny it-- defeat writhing in his shattered voice as he rasped, “Yes. I couldn’t-- they’d lost so much. I couldn’t charge the people left when we’d failed to protect them. Horus testified against me-- as he should have-- and since I was under contract they moved me to a desk division to pay off my debt.”

Shane gaped at him. “Charge?”

The story had been that a Retriever led a group of recruits into what amounted to a slaughter-- one that got recruits and townsfolk alike killed-- and falsified reports on the matter. Shane _remembered_ how it had been the talk of the town six years ago when Jas had just arrived in his life and he’d gone to take a job at Joja to help Marnie with the bills. The town it had happened to had been nearby on the border between them and the Gotoro Empire. When the incident wiped it from the map, Gotoro had moved in ‘to assist their town’ and what had once been a simmering hostility turned into the start of an all-out war that had been going on for five years now.

“I altered the report,” Glen admitted, not looking up. He didn’t even bother trying to catch the blood now-- Elbows resting on his knees, Glen twisted the washcloth in his hands as he spoke, “Changed it so that there were no survivors listed. Burned the evidence we’d collected for the bill. I knew that if the company couldn’t fine the survivors for the deaths, Joja would have to pay the death benefits for the Retrievers on their own. Once Horus testified, I broke it off. He… never forgave me.”

“I-- you’re saying the reports you altered were to keep people from having to pay? That was it? What about the Scouting report?”

“I never touched them-- but there must have been something I missed. I never would have recommended so few people if I knew what was being driven over the border.”

 _\--*What_?*-- Once again Shane felt his mind grinding to a halt. “Driven?”

“The deforestation project? Between the borders? I was one of the ones in charge of looking over some of the scouting reports and giving estimates for what would be driven out of the forest. I-- I missed the nearby cave system and when a Grootslang was driven up from them--”

Taking the washcloth from Glen’s hands, Shane gently started trying once more to manage the mess of blood as he tried to remember. Everyone remembered the start of the war-- * _He’d been younger, freshly graduated with no prospects, and bitter at the world because he and Marnie had just had a baby Jas dropped in their laps_ *-- but he didn’t remember much about before then. Yet thinking back, he did remember the news reports that his parents used to watch with him squished between them on the couch-- his favorite wooden sword over his lap along with the stuffed chicken toy Marnie had sent him for his eighth birthday.

The old news reports would show overhead views of massive paths of deforested land, creating a ‘peaceful’ gap between the two tense nations where their patrols could roam. The project had been started years back-- when he was only a babe-- far up in the north of the Ferngill Republic where the only border was a thin river between two towns. Up until the massacre of Fuzo Valley the border should have been progressing. The massacre and then freshly kindled war made it easy to forget about the ‘peace’ project but now he was sure he remembered it.

“Mr Avi what happened?” Vincent’s gasp reminded him that they weren’t alone as both the kids ran up.

Glen, quickly taking the washcloth and holding it over his face to block the view of blood, gave a strained chuckle. “Just a clumsy moment. I’m fine.”

“Did you run next to the pool?” Jas asked, leaning on his knee as she tried to look at his face. “Mama always says if I run next to the pool I’ll fall and crack my head on the rock.”

“Marnie is a smart woman. We’d all do well to listen to her advice.”

Shane didn’t fail to miss that Glen deflected some questions with passive answers-- that it was something he did often-- but it seemed to satisfy the kids regardless.

Standing, Glen said, “I’m going to go wash this. I’ll be right back. Did anyone want anything from the food stand while I’m over there? I believe they have--”

“Ice cream!” Jas immediately blurted.

Shane winced, intending to talk them down before Glen simply nodded and looked to Vincent. “Ice cream for you as well?”

“Yes please, Mr Avi.”

“And you?”

Shane didn’t realize that Glen was asking _him_ till he realized that Glen’s dark brown eyes-- barely visible from just over the washcloth-- were pointed his way. When Shane didn’t answer Glen turned back to the children as he said, “Why don’t you all go over. Pick out your flavor and I’ll return to pay when I am finished?”

As Glen ambled back towards the locker rooms, Shane herded the kids towards where the bored-looking attendant who sat reading a paper. The old attendant, Ricky, had been there since before Shane had moved to live with Marnie, and lived in a building adjacent to the springs. In fact, Shane couldn’t think of a time that Ricky wasn’t there.

Ricky looked up, giving them all a slow blink before closing his paper and setting it aside. “Order?”

It was less of a question and more of a demand, but Shane put his best smile on as he hefted up both kids so that they could look into the ice cream section as he grunted, “Ice cream. One scoop--” Jas started to protest so he repeated more firmly-- “one scoop. You guys want cones or cups?”

“Cones!” they both chorused, not looking up from where their hands brace against the glass.

When both had chosen and received their ice creams, Shane began to get a little nervous. Ricky gave him an empty stare as he asked, “You gonna pay?”

Shane pushed his hair back with a huff. “Sorry, we’re waiting-- I-- Just a moment he went to get his wallet. I’ll be right back. You two-- stay.”

He jogged as quickly as he dared to the locker room and looked in to see Glen staring at the open locker with one hand on his hip and the other tangled in his hair.

“Are you coming?” Shane asked. “Glen?”

Glen let out a sigh like a deflating balloon.

“...Avi?” Shane called cautiously.

With that, Glen looked at him. The look was stony enough that Shane at first wasn’t sure what to think. Then he had a crashing realization that this was Glen’s ‘upset face’ or at least as close as it ever came. The blank impassiveness was as near to a breakdown as Glen seemed to get and right now it looked like he was riding the razor’s edge as he ground out, “The bastard took my gods-damned clothes.”

Shane edged over, looking in to see a single business card set at the bottom of the now empty locker. He picked up the card to see that it was almost completely blank except for the center with the JoJa-mart stamp that said “Have a nice day!”

Silently, Shane went to his own locker and opened it. To his relief, the backpack and all his things were still there. He took his wallet-- thankful he’d stopped drinking and could do this without feeling like it was going to hurt his ‘lush’ fund-- and headed out to pay.

Glen was still in the locker room-- head in his hands, fingers tangled in his hair, and elbows braced on his legs-- when Shane returned and nudged his arm with the cup of ice cream.

“Here. I didn’t know what type you’d like so I, uh, got coffee.” Shane sat down next to him, setting the cup on the bench and poking at his own cup as he said, “I got the hot pepper flavor if you wanted that one instead.”

“Ffffffff--” Glen sounded like a burst pipe-- “fffrick.”

“I’d say fu--” Shane paused, seeing the kids at the doorway. He cleared his throat. “You alright?”

Glen made a strangled grunt before taking a deep breath. Shane recognized the ‘customer service’ type of professionalism to Glen as he stared at the lockers with a stony expression and said, “Yes.”

Now wasn’t the time or place to call him out on the bullshit so Shane simply picked up the ice cream and handed it over. “Here. Tell me if you want to trade.”

“I’ll pay you back,” Glen monotone, simply staring at the frozen dairy treat.

Shane was going to deny it until another idea struck him. “Dinner. At Gus’. Tomorrow? Say, 6-ish?”

He was pleased to see the little flutter that Glen’s eyes made as he seemed to compute the request over his haze. However, it was less pleasing to see the sad frown that took over his expression as he looked down at the ice cream and said, “Alright.”

“... you could say no--”

“It’s fine, Shane. I’m just-- I think I’m a little tired. Going to… head home.”

“... like that?”

Glen looked down at himself.

With a sigh, Shane took a bite of his ice cream. It was good. A little strange. Tasted a bit like if someone had made jalapeno poppers into an ice cream-- though more sweet than savory. As he pondered over the flavor he said, “Listen, sit for a while longer. Eat the damn ice cream. Maybe soak for a bit. Let the kids play off their sugar-high and then you can wear my jacket as we walk home. Deal?”

Though Glen didn’t answer-- he also didn’t leave. He was silent throughout the rest of the trip. A dour presence that even the kids seemed to pick up on as they walked home. Glen didn’t complain about his bare feet as they walked and as the finally tiring kids took the lead, Shane hung back. Although he’d refrained from doing it that morning, Shane didn’t hesitate as he slid his hand into Glen’s and gave it a squeeze. To his internal glee, Glen’s hand held his-- the grip gentle but firmly there.


	9. Confessions

(Image of OC Avictus Glen. Painted by B. G. Wolfe. Do not take or repost, Thank you.)

* * *

Dinner with Glen had become a regular occurrence for Shane after the first night. Glen had surprised him the day after the hot springs by waiting at the edge of the bridge across from the Joja mart for Shane to get off work. It was the closest Shane had ever seen Glen get to the building. They’d walked together down to the saloon. Instead of letting Shane lurk at his usual table, Emily had led them to a booth with an already lit candle and gave Shane a wink before scuttling off.

However, their dinners at the saloon were during the week. Now it was Saturday and he’d spent the day helping Marnie around the farm--which was still being used as a base of operations as they now prepared for the Flower Dance. Normally he wouldn’t have minded helping Marnie, but it seemed that every time he finished a job she’d give him another one. That too wouldn’t have bothered him but for the fact that it was his birthday and she seemed to have forgotten.

He’d been planning on spending the day with Glen. Maybe see if they could progress beyond their normal gentle kisses. Perhaps grab dinner together afterward. Instead, he was dirty, sweaty, and exhausted and it sadly wasn’t from sex. He hadn’t even really eaten beside the cold leftover pot roast he’d microwaved that morning. Overall it was turning out to be a crummy day and now he simply wanted to go to sleep.

Shane had just sat down on the couch-- his eyes closing of their own accord-- when there was a knock. Marnie’s voice drifted back from the laundry room as she called out, “Shane, can you get that?”

With a tired groan, he pushed up from the couch and shuffled over to the door-- hoping that it wasn’t someone needing more hay that he’d need to lift or carry-- to find that it was Glen. For once his hair wasn’t in a bun and was instead captured in a loose ponytail that drifted over his shoulder with the wind that curled around him as he leaned casually against the fence.

“Ready to go?” Glen asked, his thumb toying uncharacteristically with his metal lighter as he lounged there.

Marnie-- to Shane’s surprise-- popped out from behind him and handed him a duffle bag, kissed his cheek, and said, “Have fun dear. He’s all yours Mr Glen.”

The door closed behind Shane before he could protest and he was left standing awkwardly on the doorstep with the duffle in his arms. Glen pushed off the fence, taking the bag from Shane and slinging it over his shoulder easily as he tipped his head. “Come on.”

When Shane didn’t move, Glen walked back over to him and in a startlingly swift move-- picked him up. He ended up draped over Glen’s shoulder like a sack of flour and walked all the way to the gate before he found his voice, “Alright! Alright! Geez, I’ll walk.”

Glen set him down on the other side of the gate-- as if he weighed no more than Jas-- before leaping over it himself. Once over, Glen lit a cigarette and offered a second out to Shane. “Smoke?”

Though Shane hastily took the cigarette, he tucked it into his pocket till they were around the bend from the ranch house. The calming puff of nicotine was a blessing after the work he’d done and he grouchily asked, “There a reason Marnie shoved a duffle bag in my arms?”

“I, uh,” Glen cleared his throat and Shane noticed that he was clicking the lighter again with his free hand as they walked. “I may have asked her to.”

“May have? Just a little accidental ‘hey Marnie, can you pack Shane a bag like he’s a toddler going to a sleepov--” he cut short, eyes narrowing. “That’s what this is, isn’t it?”

Glen gave another awkward clear of his throat. “Kind of. The plan was for overnight. So, yes. We do need to hurry though. If… if you wanted to come over. That is.”

“Why hurry?” Shane asked, wanting to stop but instead hastening to keep up with Glen’s longer strides.

“Ah-- the cats can be assholes sometimes.”

“What--” Shane stopped himself as he realized that Glen was nervous. The click of the lighter accompanied Glen’s refusal to look at Shane. It was almost painfully obvious that Glen had planned something-- though ‘what’ was the question. On another day-- one when he wasn’t tired, gross, and grouchy-- he might have thought it was cute. Oh, who was he to kid himself-- he thought it was fantastic to see the normally stoic man so obviously flustered.

Wondering what Glen was up to-- and definitely wishing he’d gotten a shower-- Shane followed quietly after Glen. The walk was chilly as the sun set behind the trees and it felt like Glen nearly had them sprinting by the time they reached the house.

Glen paused at the door-- nervously casting him a final glance before opening it. Inside, the small house had been re-arranged. The mattress of the bed was set in the corner across from the fireplace and pillows had been set up to line the wall as the bedframe was used to hold up an old TV.

“I replaced the hot water heater,” Glen said from the doorway. “If you wanted to shower-- I know it’s a little small but--”

“That wouldn’t interfere with your plans?” Shane asked, crossing his arms feeling a little too tired to be very appreciative.

Glen, however, gave him a blank look. There was perhaps even a hint of hurt and disappointment there in his expression as Glen tucked his hands into his bomber jacket. “My plans were to get back sooner. ...did you want to shower or...?”

Shane sighed. “Yeah. I smell like the barn and feel like all the crap I shoveled. Sorry for snapping.”

The response was a shrug as Glen opened the front door once more. “Take your time. I’ll be right back.”

With that, Shane was left alone. The only others in the house were the cats who all peered at him from where they huddled on their prefered heater blanket. Sighing, he headed for the bathroom. The shower was cramped-- and he hit his elbows on the wall more than once-- as he tried to wash away the day. However, even he had to admit that he felt better after he finished. He emerged from the bathroom wearing his favorite lounge pants that Marnie had obviously washed and packed for him only to find Glen working at something on the counters of his tiny kitchen.

When Glen turned it was with a cupcake and a single lit candle. He froze, obviously not expecting Shane to have emerged just yet.

“Uh… I-- I’m not going to sing. But Happy Birthday.” Hastily setting it back on the counter and stepping aside, Glen gave an apologetic small smile. “I’ll let you make your wish. I’ll be a moment-- just need to get the generator to turn on.”

If Shane didn’t know better he’d have guessed that Glen ‘fled’ rather than ‘left’. Though he didn’t run, the speed that Glen went out the door nearly left a breeze in his passing. Shane picked up the cupcake, blowing it out as he looked around to realize that the fireplace had been lit and there were other lit candles around the room as well now.

Outside, the generator that Glen rarely used-- his few solar panels usually providing all he needed-- kicked to life with a pur and the sparse lights of the house brightened and dimmed as they adjusted to the new power flow. As he leaned against the counter and waited for Glen to return, Shane swiped a finger-full of the frosting from the cupcake-- only to be surprised at the spicy heat that accompanied the sweetness.

Glen returned just as Shane was still licking his finger and looking questioningly at the cupcake. His dark eyes took in the scene from where he stood in the doorway and he said, “It’s chili cream cheese. On a-- some sort of chocolate.”

“It’s good. Pretty sure Gus doesn’t bake though…”

“He doesn’t,” Glen said looking away. “Robin had errands to do and let me come with her into the city to pick up a few things. Speaking of--” Glen pulled a towel off the boxes on the counter that Shane hadn’t noticed and picked them up. “I brought dinner. I hope you don’t mind pizza. Again.”

The name on the box proudly proclaimed it to be voted the ‘Best Pizza’ in Zuzu City. It had been ages since he’d had real fresh pizza--his favorite-- as even Gus’ was store-bought. He looked around for the table to find that it had been moved while he was showering to now be beside the bed-turned-floor-couch.

Walking over, Glen set the boxes down before turning to the TV and hastily shoving a tape into the ages old built-in VCR. It whirred and hummed as Shane moved to sit down-- his curiosity burning pleasantly ever so slightly along with his tongue-- to be greeted with a familiar title screen as soon as Glen moved.

“Grid and Grit?” he asked, accepting the plate of pizza that Glen served out before sitting beside him.

“I-- Marnie said it was your favorite. If it’s wrong--”

“No, no-- I’m just… surprised. You don’t seem like the type to watch stuff like this.”

As the old noir intro of the retired gridball player turned PI played on the screen along with a background of mournful trumpets, Glen flashed him a strained smile. “I’ve never seen it. I don’t watch TV.”

“Like, at all?” Shane asked, though he was already realizing that he’d never seen any evidence to the contrary.

“No. I-- the orphanage that I was in didn’t have one. When I was old enough to maybe get one myself I was traveling too much and more focused on getting my degrees. I listen to music sometimes but I… didn’t think to buy a radio. Yet.”

Since Glen didn’t exactly talk about himself often-- or really ever-- that had been quite a news drop. The pizza-- which smelled fucking heavenly and was tantalizingly close to Shane’s mouth-- was put slowly back down as Shane asked, “You’re an orphan?”

* _It was the summer after the Sounders won their last gridball match--_ *

Glen reached over and after slowly looking over the buttons he hit the pause button on the TV, stopping the famous narration intro by the main character, Enigma Drake, mid sentence. Setting aside his plate, Glen shifted to be kneeling and facing Shane. There was something serious and dark in Glen’s face as he took a deep breath.

“My full name is Avictus Harley Glen-- Please never call me Harley-- I’m thirty two-- My parents and twin sister were killed in a car crash when I was five but I survived-- My sister was four hours later than me and though we were twins we have different birthdays-- my grandfather died when I was eleven-- my favorite foods are almond bread, apricots, peaches, and ginger-- I hate beets, cauliflower, spaghetti or any type of noodle longer than two inches-- my favorite color is purple.”

It was said flatly in a rushed list like someone trying to get through their grocery checklist. The only sign that Glen hadn’t become a robot-- besides the fact that Shane had learned over these last few months that the stoney expression was more of a front to hide Glen’s emotions-- was the fact that Glen’s breathing was strained and a muscle in his jaw was working overtime.

Shane couldn’t help it-- he started to laugh.

Clutching his stomach, he fell back onto the bed as the chuckles turned into cackles and cackles to nearly roaring with laughter. It took him a handful of minutes to get himself under control-- during which Glen set like a statue. When Shane finally sat up-- wiping the mirth from his watering eyes-- Glen was staring with a very guarded and impassive expression. It was almost colder than usual and Shane realized how his action must have come across.

“I--” Shane took a deep breath to try and push away more laughter and shook his head, “Sorry-- I’m not laughing at you, I promise. I just-- what the fuck?”

Now Glen’s eyes dropped away, staring at the stacked pizza boxes that sat between them on the table. So much effort to gather together things that Shane loved for a birthday he’d been sure no one remembered. He started to move to Glen-- hoping to repair whatever damage he’d done with his fit of laughter-- when Glen looked back towards him.

The light from the fireplace reflected off his eyes, making them a flickering golden amber as they focused on him with laser-like intensity. “I can’t give you a fancy gift. Or cook for you. Or talk… about how I feel. But I can tell you about me. About the things no one-- not even Horus-- knows. It’s all I can give.”

“I was pretty sure no one remembered or cared that it was my birthday-- I didn’t even really care to be honest either-- but you put all this together. You didn’t have to get me anything but I-- Thanks.” Shane fidgeted, chewing his lip as he thought over what Glen had said and eventually he asked, “... So Horus doesn’t know you’re thirty-two?”

Glen looked away, his somber gaze lowering to his lap as he answered, “I was put in the same dorm as him in the orphanage. He assumed I was younger than him because I was smaller. I didn’t correct him.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“Winter.”

Shane arched a brow.

“The eleventh. March.”

Shane actually remembered that day. After all, how could he not? It had been near the end of winter. The day of their fight. It had fallen on a Saturday too-- which was why he’d walked down there. The case of beer he’d bought on Friday as he lost the fight against old impulses still sat in a cupboard at Marnie’s.

After Shane’s talk with Marnie, Gus had let Shane crash on the cot in the Saloon’s spare storage room-- the one he used to get out when Shane was too drunk to even walk home. He remembered wandering around town most of the next morning-- no work to occupy himself and not being able to face Marnie yet. His feet had taken him to Glen’s as if on their own. Though he had still been furious, he’d told himself he was only there to ask Glen… something. To see if there was an excuse he could swallow. Then Glen had opened the door and he’d forgotten everything he was going to say as Glen slowly goaded him into a fight and let Shane beat the shit out of him-- all without raising a hand against him.

Shane was pulled out of his musing-- about beating up Glen on his goddamned birthday and how he’d need to make it up to him somehow-- by the sight of a lone paw that stretched up and began patting at the top of the table. He watched, amused and befuddled, as the paw slowly worked its way over to his plate. When it finally found the plate it promptly yanked it towards the edge of the table.

The only thing that saved his pizza was Glen who had dived forward to grab the plate and lift it away before there was a fresh cheese-oil stain on the wood floor. Holding it aloft, Glen dipped to peer under the table as he spoke in a stern tone, “Jackal, we’ve discussed this.”

From the other side of the table, a pair of large ears slowly rose to be followed by a pair of bugging yellow eyes. The cat stared at Glen who’d emerged as well before slowly dipping back under and slinking away as it gave an unhappy yowl.

Unable to abide by the silence, Shane asked, “So… Jackal?”

“He gets into the trash. It seemed fitting.”

“Did you name all of them?”

Glen nodded and pointed at them in turn-- “Nugget, Glory, Jackal, Boots.”

The names were more mundane than Shane expected but one in particular made him wonder as he stared at the splotchy large-eared cat named Boots who was hunkered next to the fireplace. “Not to judge your cat naming skills but why Boots? Why not Sock since his marking looks like a sock with a hole in the toe?”

“Because,” Glen gave the cat a flat look, “it was not my sock that he decided to defecate in.”

~

* * *

~

Early morning light-- the sun freshly peeking over the nearby mountains-- woke Glen as it usually did even though the bed had been moved away from the window. The cats, as usual, had all crawled under the covers and taken up most of his foot space so that he was forced to lay sideways on the mattress. What wasn’t the usual was the feeling of another warm human body curled against him.

Shifting carefully as to not disturb the cats or Shane, Glen started trying to disentangle himself from both bed and limbs. The twisted sheets-- kicked low by that night’s activities-- hampered his progress enough for Shane’s arm to re-tighten around his waist.

“Only monsters get up this early,” Shane muttered, his face wedged between Glen’s arm and the bed.

Fighting a fond smile, Glen couldn’t help as he let off a chuckle. “I need to do my prayers and read the sunrise. I will come back afterward if you want.”

Shane’s eye cracked open. “Did you just say ‘read’ the sunrise?”

“I did.”

With a yawn that audibly popped his jaw, Shane dragged himself up and squinted at him. “How the hell do you read a sunrise?”

Glen pulled off one of his rings and held it up. Taking it, Shane squinted at the ring-- his eyes flicking as they looked over the entwined snakes in different metals. Yet it was not the metalwork that he commented on as he said, “This is Empire work.”

“It is,” Glen said with a nod.

At the further narrowing of Shane’s eyes, Glen sighed. It was too much to hope that his morning would go smoothly-- especially since he’d been so nervous that he’d nearly botched the previous night. The hope further withered as Shane said, “Gotoro items are illegal. Their magic shit doubly so.”

Glen nodded-- bracing himself.

“So why do you have it?”

“It was my grandfather’s.”

Something seemed to click for Shane as his eyes flicked between the ring, Glen’s hair, and then the shrine in the far corner. “You’re Gotoroian.”

“Yes. I’d have assumed that was obvious. My accent alone gives it away.”

“Did you-- did you start the war on purpose?”

And there it was, the verbal slap in the face that Glen had expected and braced for.

“No-- nor do I hold any allegiance. It was simply where my parents were from. If you remember-- this was my grandfather’s house. He grew up here and only moved to Gotoro when my grandmother’s illness got worse and they needed to live closer to doctors who could treat her.”

“There are doctors here,” Shane said defensively-- waking up more now thanks to his anger as his eyes darted in search of his shirt.

“Not for Ortugu disease,” Glen said as he could while he handed over the shirt from where it had been tossed the night before. “Even before the war-- things were tense.”

Shane froze at the mention of the rare disease before he asked, “do you have it?”

“No. She got it as a child when there was a monster attack on her village. An infected Tatzelwurm.”

“...how--?”

“How did she manage it?” Glen finished the question with a rueful sigh. “With medicine.”

“The plants to treat Ortugu don’t grow here and the Empire won't trade the medicine-- how did she get it if she was here?”

“She was Gotoroian. After she married my grandfather and moved here, my parents got it for her. We lived just across the border. Once a year we’d drive the medicine over for her and visit. I--” He looked down at his hands, messing with the rings there as he continued, “...It was during one of those trips that the Empire shot the car off the road thinking them smugglers but… well, within family usage and even crossing the border like that was legal back then with the right paperwork. Reparation payments covered my grandparent’s move back to Gotoro but the stress of it-- she fell ill and passed before I was even out of the hospital.”

“You were in the car?” Shane asked, his shirt now forgotten in his hands.

Tilting his head, Glen pulled aside his hair to reveal the scar that rode the curve of his skull from just before his ear to the back of his head. “My father tossed me from the car before they opened fire. He didn’t have time to get my sister out.”

To his surprise, he felt Shane’s fingers lightly brushing along the pale line that marked his very first of many scars. As he took his hand back, Shane said, “Sorry…”

Glen shook his head, letting his hair fall back into place. “It’s fine. It does not hurt.”

“I-- no. I mean about jumping down your throat for being Gotoroian. About immediately coming to the conclusion that you’d started the war on purpose. You didn’t deserve that and I-- I don’t want to be someone who makes assumptions like that,” he paused, pushing his messy purple hair away from his face as he puffed a sigh through his cheeks. “Ugh, what a way to start the morning.”

Leaning forward, Glen gently took Shane’s hand and placed a soft kiss on the knuckles. “It is not the worst way when it still means waking beside you.”

The blush that crept up-- red and splotchy-- all the way up Shane’s neck and into his ears was worth the weight of the ring as it gave a heavy tug.


	10. Spring Dance

Shane stretched his arms above his head, trying to wake up enough to tell himself that volunteering to do the early morning set-up for the flower dance was worth it. At the time that he’d offered, it had been because Marnie looked like she needed a rest. However, now that he’d had to get up before the sun even rose in order to load the cart and hitch up Mini to pull said cart? Well, he felt like she could have rested AFTER the dance.

The regret was made less painful by Glen, who had met him by the gate and now walked beside him as they headed for the large clearing where the event was normally held. Perhaps the only good thing about being the ones doing the morning set-up was the fact that it meant they were alone. No cats, dog, Marnie, Jas, or whatever else to interrupt them if they decided to take a moment of privacy.

At least that was the idea.

When they got there, Shane spotted Horus. The bastard was lounging on the chairs-- brought the day before when Shane had mowed the expanse-- along with some guards.

“The fuck is he doing here?” Shane muttered, catching Mini’s lead and pulling her to a stop.

“He will lose interest,” Glen said before nodding his head towards the far side of the field, “If we walk the perimeter and unload as we go, it will be simpler.”

“How about I run him over with the cart instead and we hide the body in the woods before people start arriving?” Shane growled, already resuming his walk.

Glen didn’t answer as he drifted to walk behind the cart, grabbing the first barrel and handling it with ease as if it didn’t nearly weigh a ton with all the seeds and enriched dirt that they’d prepared to spread out over the valley after the dancing was done.

Using that method, it didn’t take them long to actually get it done-- and Glen was right Horus already seemed to be losing interest. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like ‘losing interest’ meant leaving even after Shane needed to arrange the furniture.

Feeling grouchy about having the ‘private time’ invaded by the Retriever, Shane rounded the cart with every intention to complain and commiserate. Yet when he found Glen sitting against the cart’s wheel, arm braced against his knee and head tipped back to bask in the rising sun-- he looked too peaceful to bother.

Instead, Shane busied himself with double-checking both that he’d put the braces under the wheels and that Mini’s tether offered her enough room to graze without bothering folks. When he was done, he sat carefully down next to Glen. As soon as he was sitting, a folded paper was offered to him. 

Glen hadn’t opened his eyes and aside from the fact that he was holding said paper out he looked for all the world to be asleep until he said, “When the mayor arrives he will need to present this to Horus if he wants him to leave.”

“Why can’t I just give it to him now?” Shane asked, peeking at the tiny typed lettering as he tried to see what it said.

“You may read it,” Glen said with an amused huff-- still not opening his eyes-- before his hand gave a small flutter and dropped not to his lap but to rest on Shane’s leg. “It is simply a pre-denial of service. Horus is trying to enact the Retriever right to sit in on an event as ‘protection’. The town will have to pay him if he remains. If the Mayor presents this, it waves protection for the event but also means that if Horus remains he will not be paid.”

“... why do I get the feeling that’ll piss him off?” Shane muttered as he tucked the paper into his pocket and tried to ignore how for once Glen’s hand felt warm enough to burn even through the thick fabric of his jeans.

“It will. He will know my involvement simply by this form’s presence. Afterward, well, I am sure he will retaliate. However, I don’t feel like having him hang around today-- do you?”

“Hell no. ...you knew he’d do this, didn’t you?”

Glen cracked an eye, glancing at him. “I thought he might, so I prepared accordingly. ...the same trick won’t work twice though.”

They sat there in silence till other folks started to arrive. Shane admittedly took a great deal of pleasure in watching when Mayor Lewis presented the form to Horus. The Retriever's expression was similar to someone who’d just bitten into a cake to find it had been made of dogshit before he and his guards made a prompt exit. By the glare that he leveled Glen’s way-- Shane was sure that Glen was right in that Horus would retaliate, but that seemed like another worry for a different day.

People slowly arrived, filling the potluck table with various goods and milling about. By the time that everyone arrived-- the older folks being driven in by Robin in her truck-- the sun was high in the sky and Shane’s mood had greatly improved. More-so as a refreshed looking Marnie walked up with an excited Jas and Vincent.

“Avi, Avi-- close your eyes! We made a surprise for you! You too Shane!” Jas demanded as she skidded to a stop at the tree that Shane and Glen had ended up settling under.

Glen-- who’s eyes were already closed-- took it an extra step and held a hand over his eyes.

“Shane,” Jas said reproachfully, “No peeking.”

Obediently, Shane closed his eyes.

“Put out your hands,” she next demanded.

He placed his arms out, bracing them on his knees as he listened to Glen’s amused chuckle-- idly noting how Glen seemed to laugh more lately-- before something was set in his arms.

“Ok-- now open.”

When Shane opened his eyes it was to see a pair of butterfly wings much like the ones Jas and Vincent were wearing again. Both Jas and Vincent beamed proudly as Vincent said, “We made them after your favorite one, Mr Avi. For the dance.”

“Er-- we weren’t--” Shane started to protest until he looked over to see Glen taking off his bomber jacket to reveal a blue shirt traditional for those participating.

Glen slid the wing’s thin elastic bands on over his shirt and knelt-- wings splaying out behind him-- as he met the kid’s eager gazes. “Thank you, Jas, Vincent. It’s a lovely gift. They are beautiful. You both did a wonderful job painting them.”

“Miss Penny helped,” Jas said, swishing her dress. “I just wish I was old enough to dance too. I want to be Spring Queen.”

“Me too!” Vincent added.

Jas crossed her arms, giving Vincent a haughty look. “I thought you said only girls could be queens?”

“I--” Vincent’s eyes began to well and his lip quivered with a pout-- “I like the crown though. It’s pretty…”

“How about--” Glen pulled their attention from the argument as he stood and moved to the back of the cart where he’d set his sword and a small bag. Out of the bag he pulled two cloth crowns that he offered to each of the kids-- “perhaps you can each be Spring royalty?”

Each kid squealed their thanks-- taking the crowns before sprinting off to play-- and Marnie laughed from where she sat with Mayor Lewis where they were setting up their instruments atop the empty cart. “Thank you so much for making those on such short notice, Mr Glen. I was just too exhausted with all the other preparations.”

“It was my pleasure,” Glen said, giving a slight bow-- wings bobbing with the action-- before turning to Shane and offering out his hand. “Shane, would you do me the honor of being my partner in the first Spring Dance?”

“I, uh, I didn’t wear--” Shane paused, realizing that Marnie was now offering out a blue dancer’s shirt and his heart leapt into his throat.

Glen tugged him up-- not moving back with the action and Shane found himself pressed tight against the other man. Glen’s gaze felt as if it was burning into him as he steadied Shane-- hands on his hips-- before stepping away.

By the time he had both the shirt and wings on, all the other dancers were already lining up. Though Marnie had taught him the dance-- _back when he’d thought he’d do it with Harvey_ \-- it had been such a long time ago and he’d never practiced since then. He took his position opposite of Glen, finding to his horror that they were dead center as Marnie, Lewis, and Jodi started playing their instruments from atop the wagon.

While the girls curtsied with smiles-- hands dancing through the air like butterflies-- Glen gave a stoic bow with his long leg stretching out. The dance continued and Shane found himself misstepping more than once at the fierce intensity of Glen’s unwavering gaze. Dip, kick, swish-- he went through each movement unable to break away and the only relief coming as he heard the song begin to end. That is until the new notes started to come over Marnie’s violin-- a single’s dance.

No one had to ask who the couple was who would perform it as the other dancers moved to encircle Glen and Shane. Like a lion waiting for prey, Glen stepped up his hand aloft and palm up as he waited for Shane to do the same.

“You plan this too?” Shane asked as he placed his hand against Glen’s and desperately tried to remember how a single’s dance went.

“Perhaps.”

“You’re a bastard sometimes,” Shane panted as they moved in unison-- back two steps, hand turn, head turn, forward two steps and circle-- he could already feel himself sweating.

Glen’s hand slid up against his hip and Shane found himself tossed in the air as they reversed roles.

“I may vomit--” Shane groaned, shaking as they made another circle around each other-- “And I’m not even drunk.”

This time Glen did crack a smile. “I hope it is not _that_ disagreeable.”

Shane misstepped, nearly tromping on Emily who was clapping along with the others to the viciously fast-paced beat that they were being forced to dance to. As he whirled away he mouthed ‘ _Sorry_ ’ at her and she gave a delighted laugh.

Fourth round-- he wasn’t sure he remembered the steps for it but it seemed to not matter as Glen leaned in and whispered, “Move in.”

Shane took a step in.

Shaking his head, Glen sent him bouncing back out-- spinning Shane like he was a top. Back in he went afterward to land ungracefully panting against Glen’s chest as the music gave an abrupt stop-- Glen’s lips tickling his ear as he said, “Move in with me?”

The clapping overwrote any chance for an answer. There were a few pats on the back for them both before people paired off and the non-traditional dancing began-- and Shane was left wondering if he’d heard Glen correctly.

They ended up by the drink table and Shane nervously-- and somewhat desperately-- guzzled down a cup of punch before he turned to Glen. “Did you mean it?”

Glen-- who’d followed after him with hands clasped behind his back like an old professor checking a student's work-- simply gave a curt nod.

“I--” Shane turned away-- staring at the punch as his brain seemed to crumble like one of Marnie’s soufflé attempts. “I want to think about it. Before making a decision.”

If Glen was disappointed, it didn’t show as he nodded. “Take all the time you need.”

They stood in silence by the punch table-- Shane mulling over the mess in his mind and Glen being as silent and mysterious as he normally was. However, Shane noticed that Glen was watching Mini graze with narrowed eyes. Shane glanced at Mini as well, noticing that she was actually not grazing. Instead, she was standing nervously, her tail flicking with agitation as she gave an unhappy snort from where she was tethered.

“Think there’s a golem nearby?” Shane asked, pushing from his spot and heading for Mini.

“Possible but I prepared precautions to keep them from the area,” Glen answered as he followed behind before he grabbed Shane’s hand. “Here. Put this on.”

Shane glanced at the ring that Glen had shoved into his hand. “What--”

An unusual sound started to build-- like a hum that was almost out of hearing and getting slowly louder-- and Glen grabbed him, shoving the ring roughly over Shane’s finger before sprinting towards some of the folks still dancing. Everything after that happened terrifyingly fast as the ground began to shake and heave and roll with a sound like a large semi-truck or a train passing by endlessly before the ground along the clearing began to simply crumble downwards.

Shane ran for Jas, picking her and Vincent up at a sprint and carrying them both away from the trench that was opening. Across the field was Glen, already herding others to safety and carrying those who didn’t move fast enough. The crack widened, heading into the forest, and Robin’s truck crunched down into it just before everything went still.

Even after the quake was done, the ground seemed to quiver like a stomach threatening to dry heave. No one seemed to want to move. Then, slowly, one by one people started to uncurl from where they’d knelt and hid. Glen and Marlon, the town’s old retired adventurer, were the first to approach the trench where the front of Robin’s truck still peeked out like a child playing hide and seek. From where Shane knelt with the shaken kids he couldn’t hear what they were saying before Glen took the older man’s sword and jumped down.

There was a small crowd gathered around the edge of the trench before Glen finally re-emerged and handed the sword back. “Attached to the mines. I can collapse it.”

Marlon nodded, stroking his beard. “I can lend you the explosives if you need.”

“No,” Glen shook his head. “Supports in that section are rotted-- acid jelly lair near there. It won’t be hard to knock down. I’d rather not startle the colony though and risk them coming to the surface.”

Mayor Lewis stepped forward, his bushy mustache bristling as he glanced down into the hole and asked, “How likely is that Mr Glen? Marlon?”

“It’s hard to say. Depends on the colony,” Marlon hummed.

Glen nodded. “I’d suggest everyone return to the town. The quake will have stirred many creatures up. I will remain here for the night to collapse it and make sure nothing serious comes up before then.”

“Likely not safe to finish the Spring events I take it?” Lewis asked, his gaze going towards the barrels of seeds and flowers that people traditionally spread after the dance.

Harvey stepped up, pushing his glasses up his nose as he said, “Better to hold it off till tomorrow than risk someone being injured. Maru, would you be willing to stop by the clinic and help prep things for the aftershocks? There are bound to be some after that.”

At Lewis’ nod, people began to file back along the path and those previously brought by Robin were ushered over to where Marnie was already rehooking Mini to the cart. Soon it was just Shane and Glen who’d retrieved his sword from the cart and now squatted near the edge of where the car had slid. 

Glen palmed the dirt, rubbing it with his fingers as he stared into the hole. It was hard to think of him as brooding or serious when he was still wearing the butterfly wings but he still looked abnormally somber. He didn’t even look at Shane as he said, “You should head back with the others.”

“I can handle a few grouchy golems,” Shane joked, trying to tuck his hands into his pockets only to find he was still wearing the dancer’s shirt. “... did you want your ring back?”

“I-- no. Keep it. The protection charms on it will keep you safe.”

“Don’t you need it more?” Shane asked, crossing his arms as he fought to find a comfortable place for his hands.

Glen looked up at him. The corner of his lip had quirked up and his eyes were surprisingly soft. Yet he didn’t say anything before looking away again.

Fidgeting, Shane switched to tucking his hands into his jeans-- finding it to be tight and uncomfortable almost immediately as he said, “Can we talk? About you asking me to move in?”

“If you wish.”

“I--” Shen huffed, jerking his hands back out of his pockets as he turned to pace. “That’s-- why do you make it sound like that? Like I’m being inconvenient? Because I know-- I KNOW how much my anxiety says THAT but why do you make it sound…”

He paused, realizing that Glen had stood and turned to stare at him. Though his expression was guarded-- he was paying attention which was all Shane had wanted. Shane stepped up to him and held out the ring. “I can’t take this. I-- I don’t know if I can move in. I know-- I’m always there nowadays anyhow but you never tell me how you feel and I think I just need to hear it before I take a step like that. I mean-- Avi, what are we? Are we dating? Just… fuck buddies?”

The feather-light touch of Glen’s fingers brushed over his as he reached over to take the ring. He didn’t though. Hand pulling away, Glen just stared at it impassively. Shane sucked in a breath, thinking about maybe taking back what he’d asked-- because surely Glen cared and it wasn't fair of him to force Glen to try and say it. Yet before he could get any more words out, Glen turned away and jumped down into the hole. Shane was left holding the enchanted ring, the soft glow still lighting his palm as he watched Glen disappear into the newly opened mine shaft.

~

~

Glen took his time with checking the wilds for agitated monsters-- then he took longer to check the mines to make sure that the collapse hadn’t been caused by Horus. When he was finished he spoke to the jellies and collapsed the open entrances. After that, he simply moved on to planting the spring seed bundles that the villagers had been forced to leave behind. 

The work helped to keep him from thinking of Shane.

Sometimes. 

When the day of the Spring dance had come, the cursed ring had felt heavy-- wearing him down as it normally did day by day-- but he’d asked the question that had been building on his tongue for the past few weeks. It was not Shane’s fault that he needed Glen to confess his feelings. To have some assurance. A confirmation. Yet Glen couldn’t say anything. Nor could he think of a way to get around the words that caught in his chest before they could ever reach his tongue, so with heart in his throat he’d fled like a coward.

The combined heaviness and pain of the ring was hard to ignore as he hefted the sack higher on his shoulder and walked to the next area that folks spread the traditional seeds at. He knew he was no gardener-- his abilities evident by the struggling patch he still tried to encourage at his own place-- but he hoped that he still was helping more than hurting.

But oh, he was hurting.

Glen set the bag down against a nearby tree as he slowly knelt and began to dig the next hole. His body ached now-- endlessly. It was harder some days than others; the cursed ring that hung at his neck no longer seemed content with simply dragging him down. At times it was like moving through stone and he had to fight to keep standing. And fight. And fight. And fight. The fight was familiar though. That same soreness and exhaustion that came from battles previously now simply hung around his neck. 

It was worth it though. 

Every day that he waited for Shane at the edge of the bridge or heard his knock at the door was one more day he felt alive like never before. If Shane was a river Glen knew he’d willingly lay down and drown in him. If Shane was the wind then he’d find a way to build wings so that he could fly with him. As it was though… they were just people-- two people trying to make things work when it seemed as if they both could barely admit to HAVING feelings let alone having feelings for each other.

By the time he finished planting, the sun was coming up. Soft light began to filter down into the valley and Glen turned to look at the horizon as he pulled up the ring he used to read the sunrise. Similar to the way it had been for the past few weeks, the world was turning grey-- the color leeching downwards-- and there was a hazy black mist that seemed to hang in the valley. While the naked eye couldn’t see it he could through the ring and it worried him. 

The mist, while troubling, was not thick enough to be a concern yet-- like a distant storm he hoped to be able to prepare for before he would have to act though he knew he’d need to act within the week. Previously he had not been able to trace the source but the earthquake that they’d had only seemed to confirm what he had begun to suspect-- the Beithir was starting to venture closer to the surface shafts and its sickness had progressed to a dangerous stage. A fact only further confirmed by the jellies in the collapsed section of the field and the dirt where the shed scales of the Beithir had been ground into a fine dust as it passed through.

Glen turned to start his trek home when he noticed Shane coming towards him on Mini. The normally placid ranch-horse was skittish-- likely smelling the Beithir from the hole-- and Shane seemed to be having trouble getting her to come further towards the clearing.

“Hey,” Shane said softly as Glen approached and let the horse snort onto his palm before giving her a gentle pat. “I, uh, thought you could use a ride home. Unless you had more to do.”

\--* _I can walk_ *-- Glen thought, trying to summon the will to speak but finding it to be more than he seemed to manage. In fact, he seemed to not be able to say anything at all. If he’d been less exhausted he might have been worried but all he felt was too tired to care.

Shane took his silence for anger though as he said, “Listen, about yesterday-- I’m sorry. I think it was just a lot. Too much at once, you know? I didn’t mean that I wanted to break up-- if we’re even dating…”

Glen looked up at him-- the action feeling a little unusual and almost dizzying since Shane was normally shorter than him. Atop the horse, Shane now had the advantage of height and he loomed over Glen who wanted to say that yes, they were dating. Yes, they were together-- that was without question-- and Glen was Shane’s until the bitter gods-damned end. That is… if Shane wanted him.

But Shane didn’t deserve that.

Looking away, Glen realized how selfish he’d been with wanting to stay with Shane when his own inevitable death hung so heavy around his neck. It would be kinder to break his heart now rather than later. Especially since ‘later’ seemed to loom on the horizon. No matter how he tried-- it just seemed as if there wasn’t enough time.

“Ah, Mr Glen, Mr Gilden,” Harvey’s voice cut through the crisp morning air as the Doctor-- dressed rather unusually in overalls-- walked towards them. “Lovely morning to do the planting isn’t it? Ah, and Mr Glen, I noticed that you seemed a little tired lately. Maybe not sleeping well? -- regardless, I brought some vitamins for you. Doctor recommended of course.”

Glen faced him, his body feeling stiff and unresponsive as he stared down at the bottle as he began to sluggishly realize that he couldn’t focus. Things seemed to haze and wiggle. Had the world suddenly lost all its air?

“Glen? What are--” Shane asked. “Avi! Avi goddamnit--”

Cold grass covered in the morning’s dew tickled at his wrist and he realized that he was being held up as Harvey struggled to keep him from hitting the ground. The doctor, while strong, was collapsing under Glen’s weight until Shane added his own strength. 

Grey eyes. Dark with worry and so close like a storm on the horizon. Shane was shouting as he gave Glen a shake and Glen’s head lolled back making the sky spin.

A blue torrent that stretched endlessly like a waterfall cut by trees.

~

~

Harvey tugged his mustache as he stared down at Mr Glen-- someone who seemed to end up in his clinic more often than he’d like as a health professional… and as a friend. Initially, he’d thought the collapse to be from exhaustion or overwork-- especially after realizing that Mr Glen had spent the whole night both closing the newly opened shaft and planting the entire village-worth of seeds.

Yet… he found himself staring at his patient with a frown as he tried to puzzle over some of the symptoms that didn’t fit. The normally warm brown skin seemed both ashen and abnormally dark in some places. Breathing unusually shallow. High temperature. ...And then there was the bruise. He’d noticed it after the Retriever-- Gods curse the man-- had delivered a vicious beating. Regardless of the fine, Harvey had been down there to treat him-- using the last of his savings and inheritance to keep his clinic open afterward-- and he’d thought the wound odd then as well.

Down at Mr Glen’s ranch house, he’d been unable to convince Glen to come into the clinic then. Now, however… 

“Maru,” Harvey called.

She looked up from where she was kneeling to rearrange some of the glass bottles onto the lower locking shelves. “Hm?”

“Could you get the X-Ray machine started?”

Maru stood, dusting her knees as she asked, “X-rays? I thought you caught him when he collapsed?”

He twisted his mustache, the hairs pulling uncomfortably as he scowled. “Yes. Just-- I’d like to check something.”

“Alright. Did you need help moving the bed?”

Harvey started to shake his head before he stopped and asked, “Is Mr Gilden still sitting in the waiting room?”

She leaned back, hand gripping the door frame and foot kicking up to help her keep her balance as she tipped teapot-like to peek through the far doorway. “Yes. Hasn’t moved.”

“Ask him to come assist. Better for him than brooding.”

With a nod she walked off-- and Harvey had to keep himself from watching her go. Perhaps it was cliché for a doctor to fall in love with their nurse-- though she wouldn’t be a nurse for much longer when she finished the degree she was working on-- but he found himself thinking more often of asking her out. He wasn’t sure what was better about her-- her brains or her smile and the way it wrinkled her nose before she used her ring-finger to push up her glasses.

Shaking off the thoughts, he moved around the bed and began prepping it to be moved. He was unlocking the last wheel when Shane came in.

“Harv-- is he--?” Shane asked, his hair sticking out where he must have been grabbing it and hands shaking even from where they gripped the doorframe.

“He’s fine,” Harvey hurried to assuage. “If I could have your assistance wheeling the bed into the x-ray room please.”

Shane nodded, lips pressing tightly together as he moved to the foot of the bed and looked around. Harvey hooked the IV pole to the bed before he nodded. “Alright, just guide that end around the doorway, please.”

As the bed moved, Harvey noticed that Shane was gripping a ring on the hand that was fisted on the bed. It gave a faint glow much like one that Mr Glen used to wear even before they entered the dim x-ray room. Harvey wasn’t sure it was his place to ask his ex but he knew the two were together. Everyone did. It seemed that most of the town watched the two as they flirted and flitted around each other like moths with a light. From what everyone could see the two seemed to be getting rather serious and Emily had overheard Glen ask Shane to move in during the dance. The ring seemed to likely be one more bit of proof of that.

Harvey closed the door to the room as he ushered Shane into the viewing area where Maru already waited. The massive machine-- donated generously to his clinic by his parents before they passed-- whirred as it shifted and focused over Glen’s head.

Setting a hand on her shoulder, Harvey said, “Adjust it to scan from upper neck to lower rib.”

Though she shot him a questioning look, she still complied. Over the screens, the scan slowly began to form as the machine worked and Harvey’s hunch proved to be right as he saw the outline formed above the skeletal lines. Maru leaned over, squinting at it as she asked, “You removed all his jewelry in prep right?”

“I did,” he said with a solemn nod.

“Oh… oh, that poor man…”

Beside him, Shane-- looking pale and distraught even in the gloom-- said, “I don’t understand. What’s wrong?”

Maru cast Harvey a glance before turning away as she said, “I’ll take Mr Glen back to the room.”

As the doctor, Harvey knew it was going to be up to him to break the news. He led Shane slowly out of the room, sitting him down and pouring them each a cup of coffee in the back ‘break’ room where Maru usually studied when the clinic was quiet. Leaning against the counter, Harvey cupped his coffee like a lifeline as he asked, “Do you remember the lesson in Mrs Gladsburry’s class on Enchanted items when we were kids?”

Shane pulled a face and Harvey knew why. While Harvey had been the class ‘nerd’ and dedicated to his studies with nearly religious fervor, Shane had been more interested in things that involved more body than mind. Particularly gridball and watching old noir movies.

Looking down at his coffee-- the soft brown from the cream was still swirling slightly from being stirred in and Harvey focused on it as he tried again, “Do you at least remember the lecture about cursed items?”

“...He’s wearing one… isn’t he? That's what that was.”

Harvey looked up to see the exact expression he had tried to avoid so many years ago when he’d ended their relationship with a letter instead of finding the courage to do it face-to-face. Except… the grief-stricken expression wasn’t for him.

“Gods this explains so much. I thought the bruise looked strange,” Shane said his gaze looking down at his own coffee. “...that bastard.”

“I suspect it was put on him by the Retriever,” Harvey hazarded-- unsure in this case who Shane was calling a bastard.

“You think Horus put it on him? If-- do you think he can take it off? If he can see it--”

Harvey raised a hand. “I said ‘I suspect’ since that was the first I’d seen of it. It could have activated earlier or even been present much longer than we realize. If you remember from the lesson-- people can not see a cursed item if they aren’t affected by it. Some even forget they've noticed it for the stronger curses. …I’m sorry Shane. I know this isn’t good news.”

In the silence Harvey could hear Maru as she moved the bed back into the room-- her nice sensible shoes making little pats as she moved around. Eventually, Shane breathed out a tired sigh and set aside his cup.

“...how long does he have?”

The resignation in his voice and sadness in his eyes-- Harvey would have offered him a drink if he didn’t know Shane had gotten sober and through great struggle stayed there. 

“It depends on the curse. What activated it. What it feeds off. I-- my professional guess would be a few months. Likely less. He’s reaching the limits of what his body can handle. ...I’m so--”

“Stop,” Shane growled, cutting him off and Harvey could see the wetness in Shane’s lashes as he blinked rapidly. “Stop saying you’re sorry. I just… I need to get Mini home and feed Avi’s animals. ...can you let me back in after? I know it’s getting late but I want to be here. For when he wakes up.”

Harvey nodded. Even after Shane left, he lingered in the back room. He barely noticed when Maru entered and leaned on the counter beside him. Yet he was pulled from gazing at his long-cold coffee when she leaned her head against his shoulder with a sigh.

Blinking, Harvey cast her a questioning glance and saw that her hazel-violet eyes were staring at the monitor for the patient room that Glen was in. The readings pulsed a steady rhythm on the screen, but still, she frowned and Harvey could guess why.

“This sucks,” She said, breaking the silence after he’d fallen into the trap of watching the readings as well.

Harvey simply hummed, bringing his coffee up to his lips to sip it and recoiling at how cold it was.

“I wanted to see them get together.”

\--* _You and half the town_ *-- Harvey thought before looking down at his coffee. He’d initially felt like Mr Glen might be a bad influence on the town. Disliked him simply because he thought the man reckless-- more so because the kids started coming in more often with scrapes as well thanks to wanting to imitate him.

Both his rescue of Shane and that winter had changed those feelings. Admittedly Harvey still felt something for Shane-- even if he knew they weren’t compatible as a couple-- but he’d watched as Glen brought in the flowers when Shane was injured. How he lingered at the doorway during each of his visits. There was something between the two that was special. It had only been more prominent when Harvey was patching Glen up after the Retriever was done with him. 

In the end, if he was honest with himself, he’d wanted them to figure themselves out and see them happy. And not injured. For a little while at least. ...or a long while. Shane deserved that at least.

“I…” Maru sighed, pushing her hair back behind her ear. “I guess I should head home…”

“If you wanted to stay--” Harvey started to say before he caught himself and fell silent. 

Now she was looking at him though, her head cocked slightly to the side-- the tucked hair falling loose again-- as she waited for him to continue.

Taking a steadying breath, Harvey forced himself to finish. “I can make dinner. I-- I didn’t have anything special planned, just some fried vegetables but I have strawberries. For dessert. If you wanted.”

Strawberries were her favorite-- she’d add them to everything she could when strawberry season hit. During the off-season she’d hide bags of them in the breakroom freezer to keep her stash safe from her family. In the last couple of years he’d started to add bags in as well-- carefully mimicking her handwriting to try and prevent her from noticing.

A sly smile started to crawl over her dark lips. “If I said no, would you put them in the freezer later?”

Harvey stared at her, his heart hammering in both throat and head. “I-- you--”

“You cut them different,” she said with a smirk before it fell away and she heaved another sigh. “... I was going to help dad work on building something to pull mom’s truck out of the ditch though. Might be a little late to work on that now though…”

He wasn’t sure he could say anything-- even to assure her that it was fine-- as embarrassment burned hot in his cheeks.

“But… fried vegetables _does_ sound good…” She tapped her chin with her finger-- her face a mask of feigned contemplation before she gave him a bright smile. “I’ll call mum. Let them know I’ll sleep here tonight. You know-- to help watch the patient and be on hand for emergencies.”

~

~

Shane sat in the dark, the faint light from the ring he’d shoved into his pocket the only thing to see by. It was a comforting glow. Soft. Hazy. He didn’t want to take it out and disturb Glen who still rested-- looking peaceful and still. 

Too still.

His chest barely moved as he breathed in but Shane knew he was still okay because the nearby monitor said so. At least it did if he was reading it right. The line adventured onwards. Up and down. Never stopping. Never coming to a plain or expanse. Not yet.

Holding back the raw feelings that kept abroil inside his chest-- ugly feelings that warred between blubbering and anger-- Shane took Glen’s hand and knitted their fingers together. It felt strange without Glen’s rings there-- like his fingers were too small. The big pulse monitor clasped over Glen’s middle finger didn’t help either. It felt foreign. Strange.

Rubbing a thumb over the scars that dotted Glen’s hand, Shane leaned forward and pillowed his head on his free arm as he tried to think of what to do. Or how to feel now that he knew why Glen seemed either hesitant or unable to tell him how he felt. If he’d been trying to keep Shane from getting attached-- why ask him to move in? If he’d been unable though… that meant something about his feelings were linked into the curse.

Was Horus at fault?

Was Shane?

Since magic was mostly outlawed in the Republic since the start of the war-- and a tense teaching subject even before then-- Shane didn’t know more than the very basics.

His eyes drifted closed only to feel like they were opening minutes later, though the monitor’s clock read that it was now five minutes past 3am. He wasn’t sure what had woken him at first until he realized that Glen’s hand was holding his-- fingers no longer limp and loose. Shane pulled out the ring-- thanking whoever made the enchantment for not making it painfully bright-- and held it up to see that Glen’s eyes were open.

In the dim light, Glen’s brown eyes were dark slits that blinked when Shane moved. Shane might have let go of his hand if their fingers hadn’t been entwined so firmly but he was locked fast in the hold as he forced a smile. “Hey.”

Glen’s response was a fluttering blink before his eyes slowly moved away-- looking over the room.

“You passed out,” Shane explained. “It’s the clinic. ...I fed the cats and Duke.”

Glen shifted, bracing one hand on the bed like he intended to shift or get up and Shane nearly jumped up.

“Wait-- stop. I-- listen I-- Can we just talk? Or I can since I know… well, I _know_. That and Harvey would probably come down and tranquilize both of us if he sees a change on your monitor.”

With a sound similar to Duke when he was having one of his lazy days, Glen gave a barely contained groan that eked out as a tired sigh and he let himself be eased back. 

“About the dance-- and the move-- all of it. I think I--” Shane sighed, looking down at where their hands were still clasped. Even knowing about the chain and the cursed ring-- something he feared he might forget at any moment if he said the wrong thing-- it didn’t make it any easier to try and talk about it. “I think I know why you asked. I don’t want to rush this but I know why you… might. Just because I don’t want to move in doesn’t mean I can’t-- I don’t know-- stay over more often? If you wanted?”

When he glanced up, Glen’s eyes had fluttered closed but they cracked open when he stopped speaking.

“Would that work? For you? I mean… I…” He wanted to say _I love you_ , but at the same time, he was afraid. Afraid to admit it aloud when he knew they didn’t have much longer to be together. Or perhaps… he was more afraid to admit it to himself. To admit it and know that Glen couldn’t say it back.

Glen’s eyes fluttered again, his hand squeezing Shane’s even though it seemed like he was struggling to stay awake.

“Just-- yes or no. That’s all I need. I mean-- you could say no and I promise I’d leave you alone. Tell me yes and I’ll… I’ll be right here. For as long as you’ll have me.”

This time when Glen’s eyes fluttered, he let go of Shane’s hand to reach up. There, on Glen’s neck, a dark mark that Shane hadn’t previously noticed had begun to creep up the warm brown skin. Glen choked, eyes rolling back as he clawed at his neck just as Harvey sprinted in.

“What happened?” Harvey asked, sharply as he pushed Glen roughly to lay on his side.

“I don’t know-- we were talking-- or I was talking and he--”

A sound that made the hair on Shane’s arms and neck stand on end came from somewhere outside. One long loud howl. He knew it had to be Duke and that something was wrong. The big dog never howled and barely barked-- for that trumpet to sound it meant trouble-- he was sure.

His eyes drifted to look at where Glen’s sword was resting along with the rest of his items. Then he heard the next sound. A low rumble that barely could be registered and he looked at Harvey as he said, “Earthquake.”

“What?”

“Earthquake! Get to cover!”

Shane grabbed Glen and dragged him off the bed to under the nearby table as Harvey turned for the doorway and hunkered down with a sleepy-looking Maru just as the shudder hit. Somehow the earthquake didn’t feel like an aftershock-- in fact, it felt worse this time. The ground shook. Things fell and clattered in the shelves and Shane tucked as tight as he could under the table as he prayed that the building didn’t collapse.

Once the final rumble was gone, Harvey popped his head up. “Everyone okay?”

“You’re stepping on my foot,” Maru huffed from the doorway.

“I-- sorry. Shane? Is Mr-- AH GODDAFRICK--Monkey--- frickers…”

Shane looked up to see Harvey shaking his hand and the doctor grimaced. “Sorry.”

Maru on the other hand, carefully put her hand out next to the rail that Harvey had touched. A snap of electricity hit her hand and she recoiled with a scowl. “Harvey, I’m going to call my dad. That’s charged like-- not static, but there could be a loose or broken wire.”

Another howl.

Instinctively, Shane gripped Glen tighter as Harvey asked, “What do you suppose that is? Don’t get wolves this close to the border…”

“I think it’s Duke,” Shane said. “A warning. Maybe.”

One final howl echoed out-- its drawn out and haunting tone making the hair on his arms rise once more before Maru, who’d been standing in the hall looking towards the glass door that led outside, gave a gasp. “Harvey! There’s a fire! Oh my god-- call my father! I’m going to go help!”

“Ah-- wait! Maru!...” Harvey paused when she turned towards him. “I-- be careful.”


	11. It Will Be Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning but being near the end this chapter gets a little emotionally heavy. The title really says it all though-- IT WILL BE OKAY. For those of you who need a warning, there will be some injured animals in the latter part of the chapter but NO PETS DIE I assure you.

* * *

After he fell back asleep, Glen slept long past the rise of the sun when he normally would have gotten up. When he did wake, however, Shane should have known that Glen wouldn’t stay in bed longer than a day. The only reason that Harvey didn’t press for him to remain longer was likely because of Duke who, at some point during Glen’s second night there, managed to get inside and nearly give Harvey a heart attack when he went to check on Glen in the morning.

After Shane had calmed Harvey down, he’d followed Duke out and set himself at Glen’s side as they began the slow walk home. During the walk Duke’s ears were perked, his tail stiff, and there was an unusual keenness in his eyes that Shane hadn’t seen in the old dog previously-- though he assumed it was just the earthquakes that had the big dog on alert.

Shane hefted the duffle bag that he’d hastily packed the day before to sit higher on his shoulder as he helped Glen up the last step of the house. Though he’d meant to think about things a little longer, it seemed that a decision had been made up for him-- at least temporarily-- when the Marshak family’s home caught fire. While Vincent’s brother, Sam, went to stay with Maru’s family-- on account of him being friends with their son-- Shane gave up his room to Vincent and his mother, Jodi.

Through this, Glen had been silent. Yet… Shane was sure that wasn’t by choice. Since their emergence, dark marks had begun creeping out to turn Glen’s brown skin to nearly pitch black and they seemed only to grow if Glen tried to speak. Fearing that the curse was accelerating-- that they’d have less time than previously thought-- Shane ended up just telling him not to say anything.

Duke nudged the front door open and pushed his way into the house, leading the way as Shane helped Glen over to the bed. Shane would have commented on it-- perhaps made a joke to see Glen smile again-- but Glen let off a pained hiss as he eased down. Shane gently pulled Glen’s hand aside from where it had curled, opening the shirt to see that the black had spread even more since they’d left the clinic.

Glen’s hand slid over his, holding it gently and Shane looked up to see him staring at him. When his lips parted and he started to mouth words, Shane stopped him, “No. Don’t. It just gets worse when you try. … Harvey is contacting a friend who might be able to help. You just have to wait a couple days,” he paused with a bitter smile, “And put up with my cooking. Saloon pipes don’t seem to care for the earthquakes either.”

Glen’s expression was somewhere between tired and bemused as he forced himself to stand once more. Though Shane wanted to stop him, he ended up just hovering behind as Glen slowly moved over to the chest at the end of the bed and pulled out a package. Sitting back on the bed, Glen waited for Shane to sit beside him before he handed it over.

The bow around it was neat. Precise. Perfectly formed. The wrapping however beneath it had obviously been a struggle. Jas had done similar before Marnie started teaching her better ways than- ‘stick it in place and tape it there.’

“There a Gotoroian holiday I don’t know about?” Shane asked jokingly before wincing. “Don’t answer. I was kidding. I… just didn’t get anything for you if that's the case.”

A deep baritone bark interrupted his actions as he began to thumb at the paper and he looked up with a start. Seconds later Duke pushed back into the house, nosing aside the screen door as he herded the cats under the small table and tucked himself tight beside it. This time it was Glen who grabbed Shane and pulled him off the bed-- using his body to shield Shane as a rumble began and things began to shake.

From where he was pinned beneath Glen, Shane could hear as things began to rattle with the newest quake. Then glass breaking and a massive crash somewhere outside. The last was a warning creek of wood before something on the porch gave way just as the last of the rumbling began to fade.

They lay pressed together-- waiting to see if there was more-- before Glen eased off him. All the cats were bunched together in a tight knot against Duke beneath the table when Shane leaned down to peek at them. When he leaned back up, Glen was standing in the doorway.

“Hey, we can worry about whatever that was later,” Shane said, springing up and starting towards him. “You should lay down.”

Glen’s eyebrow arched.

“Hey, don’t give me that look. I’m just… worried.”

He wanted to say _I want you to get better_ , but they both knew that wouldn’t happen. It wasn't his place to play ‘mother hen’ the way he might with Jas but it was a struggle to be passive. So he looked away, unsure if watching Glen waste away from something neither of them could help was something he could actually do. Not when Glen meant so much to him.

Glen’s fingers gently came up to touch under Shane’s chin, tilting his head up. There wasn’t enough light to make Glen’s eyes brighten-- instead, they were such a deep dark brown that Shane felt as if he was getting lost in them. Glen shifted his hand, cupping Shane’s jaw as his thumb brushed softly over his cheek. He could feel his stubble catch on the rough calluses that Glen’s hands had formed over the months of working on the farm.

It was so easy to imagine Glen’s voice. _I’m fine_ , he’d say. _Just tired_. Little white lies and half-truths-- his talent in simply avoiding a real answer. Normally it drove Shane up a wall but now… he just wanted to hear one more. To hear Glen’s voice whisper softly how everything would be fine.

Shane didn’t even realize that he was crying until Glen’s fingers brushed aside the tear and he was pulled into a fierce hug. He clung desperately to Glen’s shirt, trying hard not to become a sniffling mess as he muttered, “You’re such a bastard.”

“Hurarrwoo woo,” Duke harrumphed from behind them and Shane pulled reluctantly out of the hug-- moving as the big dog shoved his way between them, through the open door, and then turned to look at them expectantly.

Expression bemused, Glen tipped his head-- nodding towards the door-- and after picking up his sword, followed after the dog. They all had to ease carefully around the broken porch where one of the supports had finally given out and the roof sagged dangerously. Once off the porch Duke led them around the building and over to the cellar where the first crash must have come from.

The door was bowed from a large rock that had bashed into it and rolled off to lay nearby. Glen hefted the door as Shane helped and when they got it open Shane could see that something inside it had collapsed. There was a dusty sort of cloud inside it along with a strangely electric smell that he waved away with a grimace.

“Probably not safe to go in. I can call Demetrius. I know he and Robin have stuff for checking the mines. Or-- or you could just go in,” Shane heaved a sigh as Glen drew his sword and slowly began easing down the stairs.

Once Shane was inside he could see that the damage had caused the far wall to collapse. The ice had melted-- likely the colony of frost jellies living on the other side had been scared off by one of the earthquakes-- and now there was a hole leading into what was obviously the mines. What he’d first thought to be dust appeared to be some sort of mist that gave off small electric sparks as they moved around the room and it formed dancing ribbons of electricity along the sword.

Glen held a hand up, stopping him before leaning to look around the corner of the newly opened hole. Whatever he saw had him pulling back quickly as he motioned to go back up the stairs. Shane knew better than to try and ask what it was-- not only because Glen couldn’t answer but because only a fool would talk near a monster.

And by the deep musky growl from just beyond the wall, Shane was very sure it was a monster.

They had made it to the bottom of the stairs when there was a startled shout-- “Ah-- YOU?! Stay back I-- Get-off me you mangy mutt!”

Horus’ voice echoed like a gong just before one large luminous blue eye snapped open in the darkness. More static began to flick and snap around them as the mist began to thicken and out of the hole a massive blue snout began to push just before there was a flash of light.

Shane woke to rain pattering down on his face. There was a sick and tipsy feeling in him and after dragging a hand over his face-- he realized what it was.

He was drunk.

The very thought-- after all he’d done and struggled through to stay sober-- made his stomach clench and he rolled over as the first wave of vomit hit. The familiar bile and beer flavor only made it worse as he hurled what had to be over a case's worth of beer into the dirt. When he finished, he sat down. A drunken hiccup-- his stomach still rolling objectionably-- escaped him as he tried to spit the taste away and get his addled brain to work well enough to figure out where he was.

Once he began looking, he immediately knew. He was up on the cliffs where he’d used to come before he’d stopped drinking. Why he was up there now… he didn’t know. How much time had passed since they were standing in the cooler? What had happened? Where was Glen?

Groaning, he forced himself to his feet. Holding the sparse rocks and trees nearby to keep his balance as he looked for the path down the hillside. The ground seemed to roll and spin with every step and he ended up kneeling down and crawling-- still tipping like he was on a boat at sea-- simply because he couldn’t keep his balance.

But he needed to know where Glen was.

The next wave of nausea brought more bile and dry heaving than actual vomit, and he held onto the nearby rocks for dear life as his stomach rebelled. However, when he looked up he realized he’d been going the wrong way. Before him was the entrance to the mine-- the one he must have gone into originally-- and in the rainy gloom, it was twice as threatening.

In the darkness, he saw movement. Someone tall. Almost lanky. Their faint limp took them farther in as Shane called out, “Glen? ...Avi?”

He found himself following-- cursing his uncooperative feet as he stumbled after the shadow. It seemed that they hadn’t heard him. Always a corner ahead of him, Shane couldn’t seem to catch up.

Until he did.

And realized his mistake.

Standing before him was not Glen but one of the legendary fairy dogs. A Cù-sìth. While Glen seemed to know different tales-- likely from being Gotorian-- Shane had grown up hearing about them from his mother. She’d even had a song about them-- the god’s dog with shadows that danced on the walls and either led travelers to riches or cursed them to life as a monster.

At least one part of the tales seemed to be true: The dog’s shadows-- of which there were three -- were all humanoid, and they shifted, walked, and moved even when the massive green dog did not.

Shane took a step back as the dog whirled on him. Its teeth were revealed in a blood-red snarl as its third eye slowly opened. He was sure there had been something in his mother’s song or Glen’s stories about how to survive an encounter but his drunk mind couldn’t focus beyond the terror.

Its mouth opened as the growl doubled in volume and Shane fervently hoped that he wasn't so drunk as to piss himself in fear just as it lunged at him. On reflex he put up his arms, trying to hold it off. Teeth scraped at his skin-- missing his arm as the beast clamped down on his jacket instead. It pulled, dragging him slowly farther into the cave.

Desperate to get loose, Shane fought against the cù-sìth as he wriggled from the jacket. Only once the jacket was completely off did the monster seem to realize that it didn’t have a mouthful of its prey. It dropped the jacket, advancing on him even as he backed hastily away.

Out of the darkness a new form slammed into it and Shane recognized Duke as both dogs went tumbling out of sight. Wild howls and snarls echoed in the tunnel as Shane turned and hoofed it. He heard Duke give a pained yelp and turned-- just before there was a rumble and cracking beneath his feet.

Unable to do anything but fall, Shane was dropped deeper into the mines. Perhaps it was fate-- the universe’s way of telling him this is where he was supposed to die. Yet he didn't die. Instead, he landed on something soft and was bounced away from the rubble.

It took effort to try and get up, and he realized in a distant fuzzy way that he’d re-injured the shoulder that he’d hurt the first time. Things felt wrong inside the joint and moving it hurt almost indescribably. However, he couldn’t see what he’d done. There was nothing there in the darkness. Nothing but black.

Nearby the rubbled shifted, clacking down with a few final pebbles and slowly returning to an unsettling silence. Soon the only sound was a steady drip and his pained breathing as he cradled his arm and tried to think of what to do. He ended up finding the wall and leaning back against it as he dug in his pocket for his lighter.

Shane didn’t find a lighter. Instead, he felt the smooth metal band of the ring that Glen had given him. As soon as he pulled it out, a soft glow filled the room with enough light for him to see. Holding it up with his good arm as if it was a torch, he looked around where he’d fallen. It looked like an old shaft of the mine that had already partially collapsed and led into an underground cavern.

Nearby was the reason his landing had been relatively soft and he hadn’t been crushed by the rubble-- a shade was trapped beneath the rocks and it struggled weakly in a silent attempt to get free. Shane watched it, unsure of what to do until he thought of Glen. Their conversation during that rainy evening had been memorable. After all who the hell trades with monsters? Yet… now that Shane thought about it, he’d never seen Glen be unkind to any creature. Knowing that, Shane couldn’t simply leave it to be crushed slowly to death even if there was a possibility that the monster was mutated and might attack him.

Moving slowly, he edged over and began slowly kicking and nudging rubble aside. With one arm injured and the other holding the ring aloft, it was slow work, but the Shade seemed to understand what he was doing and didn’t lash out at him. Instead, it tried to work with him.

Then, after he kicked aside the last large stone, the shade wriggled free. It was larger than he’d expected. Unfolding from the rubble it came to stand at least a foot above him. Thankfully, it only seemed interested in limping away down a nearby passage. Shane watched it as it disappeared into the darkness as he tried to figure out what to do.

He ended up wandering. Following the metal coal cart tracks of the old mine back into the man-made section as he looked for a marker of some sort that might lead him to the surface. As he walked he began to notice that there was a chill to the air and a fine mist that surrounded a strange shimmering stone that lined the passageway.

A recognizable mist.

When the first crackle of static sparked in the air, Shane halted. There was a sound here that he hadn’t noticed while walking until it was unmistakably loud. It was a deep and continuous rumble like the motor of an engine idling. Backing away, he held his breath as he tried to head as carefully and silently up the path as was possible.

Shane was several steps back when he saw it. What he’d mistaken as a wall of shimmering stone along the left side of the passageway was actually the side of a massive beast. The rumble was its breathing as it shifted and rolled ever so slightly in its sleep and Shane found his exit suddenly blocked by a massive tail as it curled.

Backing against the far wall, Shane tried to consider his options. He could try to get over the tail-- a difficult task considering its girth-- or he could try to get around and ahead of the sleeping monster. Going near the head could mean that it might smell him and it would be far more likely that he’d be eaten. Yet… getting over the tail would be difficult with his injuries impeding his balance.

He’d just decided to try and step over the tail-- risks be damned-- when it shifted again. Without warning, the beast rolled over. The ‘wall’ that had been there previously came down towards Shane and he realized that it had been the beast’s belly. There were at least six sharply taloned legs that unhooked from the ceiling and unfolded as the beast moved about. As it moved, Shane noticed that the mist began to get thicker. Thick enough that it tickled to breathe.

Shane pressed the back of his hand to his mouth as he fought the urge to cough. The very air was electric. It danced over his skin in some places and snapped in others as he desperately looked for a way out.

Something about this was achingly familiar-- like he’d done it before.

The feeling only seemed to get stronger as the tail moved and he saw the opening he needed to get by the beast. Taking the opening, Shane bolted. He was a handful of steps when the monster noticed. It shifted, writhing in a coil of limbs as it rolled to turn around and he knew that only its struggle to turn in the small path was what was saving his life.

That if he’d gone in front then he’d most definitely be dead.

More so when he saw its head.

It was a chance glance back-- his own worry making him look-- that he saw the head. He could tell even by a glance that the creature was mutated with Ortugu sickness. He’d only ever heard it described but it was almost exactly as he’d heard and if he knew anything about the magic born sickness the beast was deathly ill. A dark sludge leaked from most of the creature’s eyes-- of which there were many-- as well as its mouth. The mist seemed to be forming from the drops as they hit the floor and began to sizzle and spark with an electric flame.

So Shane ran. For everything he was worth he sprinted down the tunnels as he heard the creature fight to turn and catch up with him. Soon he was back where he started-- passing the rubble pile at a sprint as he headed down the same passage that the shade had gone. It was here that he found the source of the drip as he ended up skidding to a stop at the edge of a deep chasm. Across the chasm was a rope bridge where one would have to carefully balance on one rope while they held the others.

He’d seen this rope before-- he was sure of it-- and he looked back again. The beast was far enough back that he couldn’t see it since everything outside of the circle of light from the ring didn’t seem to exist as the darkness swallowed it up but he could hear. The beast was coming-- and coming fast.

Giving a prayer to the gods, Shane braced himself to cross the bridge and slipped the ring on his finger-- yet… instead of running for the bridge, Shane felt himself being yanked back. It felt like someone had tugged him into the roof via his navel and everything sparked behind his eyes before simply going black. When he woke again there was sky above his head. He was being dragged by his foot slowly over the dirt.

When he looked for the source he found that it was Horus. Horus was wounded, blood covering the side of his face and the sleeve on that same side was in tatters. While one of his hands gripped Shane’s foot the one with the tattered sleeve held a sword. Each step forward scraped more dirt into Shane’s shirt and jacket.

A jacket that was still zipped, covering an arm that seemed fine.

Had the mines been a dream?

He’d been sure he was drunk. It had felt real. Too real. Yet now he was in his jacket again and a glance at the sleeve showed that it was whole and fine. Yet he couldn’t worry about his jacket when his mind finally caught up to the fact that he was being dragged to safety by a Retriever who actively disliked him.

With a snarl, Shane kicked free and rolled. His feet were unsteady-- not seeming to want to work as he tried to crawl away. Horus stumbled back before turning and grabbing Shane by the scruff. He was hauled back by his hood and grabbed desperately to pull at the cloth that was choking him while Horus growled, “The more you struggle the more this is going to hurt.”

Shane’s hands found the zipper and jerked it down before slipping out of the old Joja hoodie and similarly to the cù-sìth, Horus was left with nothing but the jacket. He scooted backward away from Horus as he rasped, “Fuck you.”

“You don’t GET it do you?! If we stay here we die because that THING isn’t going to stop. Its mind is _gone_ and anyone who touches it _dies_.”

As Horus gestured back up the road to Glen’s farm there was a roaring bellow and the ground gave a shudder. He found himself hefted up to his feet and dragged by Horus towards the town.

“Why the hell does it matter if I die or not?” Shane snarled, jerking his arm free as he looked towards Marnie’s farm.

Horus simply grabbed him again, dragging him behind as he kicked down the creaky old gate that marked the edges of Glen’s property. “Because you ignorant sniveling cow-- It’s my JOB. Now if you could just stop making this difficult for FIVE FUCKING SECONDS that would be FANTASTIC.”

The retriever’s voice dripped with sarcasm which Shane answered with his own as he drawled, “Oh, I’m SO sorry for inconveniencing you.”

Another roar. It sent a plume of birds fleeing into the sky as lightning began to strike upwards from somewhere back where Glen’s house would be. This time Shane stopped short, using all of his two hundred pounds of farmboy to jerk Horus to a stop as he looked back. If he knew Glen, then Glen was fighting that thing. In his condition, he’d need help. Though Shane wasn’t the best with a blade, he had been scaring off golems and shades since he was a kid-- it was better than nothing.

Horus gave him another jerk, the man’s feet sliding on the gravel this time as he snarled, “Goddamn-- stubborn-- don’t be a FOOL! I need to get to the Joja mart to recall my team-- the longer you waste the more of a chance that it’ll head to the farm where your little shitstain--”

Horus cut short with a grunt when Shane’s fist met his stomach. He stumbled, moving away and Shane heard him say something under his breath before Horus turned-- the last thing Shane remembered was Horus’ rage-filled face turning his way.

For the second time, Shane woke up on the ground. Marnie was crouched above him, her red hair catching the evening’s sun and she was covered in soot with a scrape on her chin. The silhouette of a sword was over her shoulder and Harvey was just across from her with his glasses catching some sort of flickering light as he moved.

“Oh thank god,” she said.

A bright light shone in his eyes and just beyond the light, Shane could see that Harvey was frowning. “No concussion… that’s a relief. We’d thought you were...”

As Shane sat up he noticed that Harvey was also covered in soot. It was smudged in big patches over his normally pristine white doctor’s coat along with spots of blood. There was also a thick bandage on Marnie’s arm and a deep, deep ache in his own head. He reached up to feel the tender bruise at his eye thanks to Horus as he asked, “Thought I was what?”

Both Marnie and Harvey shared a look before she answered, “We thought you were dead too. You… you didn’t move when we called.”

Her voice shook and he realized what she’d said. Fearing the answer Shane met her gaze. “Who died?”

They both looked away-- unable to meet his gaze.

“...Where--” Shane choked on the words, knowing by their reactions just who it was. He looked to the sky, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears as he tried again-- “Where’s his body?”

“I… I’m sorry Shane…”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry just tell me where he is.”

“We can’t.” Harvey said, pushing up his glasses as he clipped his travel kit closed and pushed to his feet. “We were going to look for it and, well, you at the farm.”

“So he could still be…?”

The expression on Marnie’s face said it all: she had no hope of that being a possibility.

Feeling resigned to face the truth, Shane let Harvey help him up and he limped beside them towards the farm. As the sun began to set, the glow from the ring started to take over-- lighting the surrounding area as they walked. Everyone was quiet and reserved. Braced. He thought he was ready even as he started to round the bend.

Yet he wasn’t ready to see the destruction that the beast must have caused. The wall that Glen had made for the garden was shattered-- broken and spread over the ground it left a trail of gems along the path that the monster must have taken along with ugly blackened burn marks where the drool had hit and seared the earth. Where before only the porch had been falling over it now looked as if most of the house had simply been picked up and tossed, leaving only the foundation behind. Water pooled out of a broken pipe where the bathroom had been, dripping out steadily and Glen’s things were spread among the wreckage.

Shane found himself stopping as he stared at it all. Seeing the carefully crafted life that Glen had made now torn apart felt like someone had ripped out his lungs. The feeling only intensified as he saw the wrapped gift that Glen had given him right before everything went to hell. Quite suddenly he wasn’t sure that he could keep going even as he robotically leaned down and picked it up.

There was a feeling in his throat-- like he might throw up or that he couldn’t swallow-- and he wasn’t sure if he remembered how to breathe. When he looked up, it was to see Marnie digging through the rubble. Her lips were a tight line as she shifted heavy beams of wood and tossed them aside. Across the yard, Harvey was doing the same-- pausing to gently set aside the remains of Glen’s shrine to his family.

A loud yowl from the storage area pulled Shane’s attention, and he went to shove the present into his jacket only to find that it wasn’t there. Setting the package onto the remains of the fence, Shane followed after the others as they all headed for the meowing.

Looking distressed and dirty, one of the cats, Nugget, was pacing back and forth in front of the now somewhat collapsed entrance. More paws scrabbled out of the rubble, batting at where the other cat was clawing and Shane reached over to carefully start lifting away wood and rubble. One by one the cats popped out-- washing each other and giving small ‘mrrp’s as they made sure that everyone was okay.

The final cat to leave was Glory but she didn’t join the others. Instead, she ran back and forth through the opening they’d formed as she howled. A peek inside revealed the reason. At the bottom of the collapsed stairs was the massive form of Duke. The large dog lay still at the bottom and Shane couldn’t help as he let off a strangled sob and began to dig and toss things aside more quickly.

It was Marnie who found the rope in the remains of Glen’s old shed and both she and Harvey braced themselves as they lowered Shane down. He feared the worst but when he knelt beside Duke he realized that the dog was still breathing-- though it was obviously painful and strained.

“Marnie,” Shane called up.

Her face leaned over the opening as she called back, “How bad?”

“It’s-- it’s not good? He’s alive. There’s a lot of blood. ...I don’t know if it’s all his though.”

“Can you stay with him? I’ll run and get Demetrius. He was building a lift for the truck that could be wheeled around. We might be able to use it for this instead.”

“Yeah. I’ll be right here,” Shane said as he turned his attention back to Duke.

Blood matted the poor dog’s fur and Duke gave a soft whine as Shane knelt beside him. “Hey bud. We’re going to get you out. Marnie can get you patched up, okay? You’re gonna be ok.”

Duke’s tail gave a slow thump and he licked Shane’s hand as Shane slowly sat down next to him. Across from them, the entrance to the caves had collapsed. There was nothing there but rubble and Shane knew that if Glen was under all that… well, they’d been taught the statistics of surviving mining cave-ins back when he was in school. He knew there wasn’t much hope.

Sitting against the wall, he caressed the dog’s head and ran his fingers over the scar there as he tried to keep from falling apart. When his breath hiccuped, Duke wriggled, pushing slowly to lay his massive head in Shane’s lap. His breath shuddered again as he began to lose the fight. His tears drifted slowly and steadily down his face as he settled into waiting.


	12. One Year Later

* * *

Shane stood on the mostly finished porch, Duke beside him and chickens roaming the yard. The massive dog never left his side since he’d moved in and started re-building the house using both his savings and the townfolk’s help.

Every day both he and Duke ventured into the mines through the opening they’d cleared where the old cellar used to be-- hoping to find Glen. While each evening he returned without success, he still had a lingering feeling like Glen had lived. That he was out there. The feeling drove him to keep venturing further and further down as he hunted. As he hoped.

He set down the animal-safe omelet he’d made for Duke-- adopting Glen’s tendency to spoil the pets-- before he sat down with his own dinner onto his lap and sighed. There was a beauty to this place even if there were still traces of the destruction that had happened a year ago. Jewels still lined the walkway-- crushed in with the stone-- and Shane didn’t have the skill to fix the fence but… it was still beautiful. A beautiful yet broken reminder of what he’d lost.

Some days it was more difficult than others to put aside the thoughts and it seemed that Duke felt the same way as the dog simply watched the cats steal pieces of his food. Fighting off his melancholy, Shane reached over and rubbed Duke’s ears. “I miss him too, bud.”

“Hurrarrwa,” Duke grumbled before walking off with a shake that jingled the chain collar Shane kept forgetting about.

When Duke returned, however, it was with a dirty package in his mouth and he dropped it onto Shane’s omelet.

“Really? On my plate? That’s low, even for you,” Shane huffed, wiping egg off the box and setting his dinner aside.

He’d forgotten about the box after initially finding it and setting it on the fence. Though he’d seen it around the house and Duke often carried it around like a toy, Shane had never felt like he could open it. There was something nice about the mystery. The reminder that Glen had, in his own way, cared enough to do little things like that right up to the end. If he was honest with himself he’d probably never open it-- fearing that it might be tickets to something long passed or worse, something more important to a relationship.

Duke gave a deep demanding bark and actually growled when Shane started to set it aside.

“Really? You’re going to be mad about this? I know you’re a dog-- a damn smart one-- and don’t understand but I’m… just not ready.”

With another whine, Duke flopped a massive paw over Shane's arm and stared at him. His dark eyes locked with Shane’s, pleading. With a heavy sigh, Shane relented. “Alright, fine but I’m warning you-- if this drives me to drink, it’s your fault.”

He hadn’t touched a drink in well over a year now and he felt like the threat was empty even if he knew he could fall off the wagon at any time-- and had several instances where he almost had. Often he suspected the only reason he hadn’t was thanks to no longer having a job at Joja. The building was collapsed and sectioned off due to the hazard of the massive dead dragon-like creature that had been killed there and Horus had not been seen since the fight. Shane wasn’t sure how he would have handled losing Glen if he had to return to his old job-- or had to see Horus again-- but he was almost positive he wouldn’t have done as well.

Looking back at the package he could see rips in the old paper. Stains, dirt, and dog slobber. It had been through a lot a year ago and Duke’s carrying it around seemed to have only added to it. The bow, once meticulously tied, was now lopsided and loose and came away easily as he gave it a tug. The paper came away quickly, crumpling in his fist as he tried to brace himself.

Underneath the paper was a simple wooden box. The latch of it was in the shape of a chicken and when the chicken part was flipped up an egg was left behind. He couldn’t help but give a wistful smile at how well Glen seemed to know him as he unlatched it and slowly opened the box.

Two sealed letters were all it contained. The first opened with a pop and he was surprised to find that it was the deed-- pre-signed over to Shane with his name already printed neatly in. When Glen was presumed dead-- by everyone but Shane-- the mayor had offered to sell Shane the property and the town had all pitched in since everyone believed he should have it. Perhaps it was an irony to see that it had been his all along.

Fighting aside the mixture of laughter and tears, Shane set the deed aside as he took the next letter. The wax seal on this one shimmered faintly as he opened it to see Glen’s neat handwriting--

~

* * *

_To Shane,_

_I am not a man who is good with words as I’m sure you know. Because of that, I believe you don’t know how much you mean, specifically to me. While there are other circumstances that press me to write this, know that all I have is yours. The house, the property, and lastly my heart. Regardless of your answer this Spring or what is coming I want you to know that._

_Know above all, however, that I love you and always will._

_~ Avictus H. Glen_

* * *

~

Shane took a deep breath and it involuntarily shuddered as he stared down at the paper. The first tear landed, in a fat blotch that began to spread the ink in a watery stain that followed the grains of the thick paper.

“I love you too,” Shane whispered, trying to blink away the other tears that threatened to fall and failing as they too pattered down.

Duke jerked away from him with a yelp-- falling back onto the ground and writhing. Horrified, Shane dropped the paper as he realized there was something terribly wrong with the dog. Limbs seemed to thicken and shorten as Black leaked away from the dog’s body.

Then, as a paw became a hand, Shane realized what he was seeing. Duke was becoming human. Not just any human-- he was becoming Glen. The process looked painful-- underscored by the pained sounds that came as he writhed-- but it was done almost as quickly as it started and on the ground lay Glen.

Shane found himself reaching out, tentatively touching the brown skin and realizing that all the scars on the dog had matched Glen’s perfectly all the way to the one along his skull from the crash that took his parents. It seemed too unreal-- too unbelievable-- even as he found himself asking, “… Avi?”

\--* _Please tell me I’m not hallucinating_ *-- Shane thought as he grasped Glen’s hand.

Glen’s hand tightened around his as Glen’s rather rusty voice said, “I have been waiting all year for you to read that bloody letter.”

“I-- you’ve been-- you’ve been the dog this whole time? I-- how?”

Glen eased up, wincing as the gravel dug into his naked backside. Once sitting he reached over and gently brushed a hand over Shane’s face, his brown eyes flicking over Shane as his fingers gently wiped the trail from the tears.

“Not sure I care. I just… by the ancestors I’ve wanted to just touch you for so long,” he crooned and Shane realized there were tears in Glen’s eyes as well. “I wanted to say I love you for-- I-- I love you. I’m sorry I couldn’t say it before but I do.”

Shane gripped Glen’s arm, holding it as he tried not to simply shatter from the overwhelming feelings that seemed to beat in his chest. He swallowed hard as the only words he could think of came up without warning-- “Marry me?”

Glen blinked, the surprise showing clearly on his face before he jerked Shane into a kiss and whispered, “Yes.”

~

* * *

~

Glen wanted to stay pressed against Shane forever. Wanted to never leave ever again. Yet it wasn’t too long before Shane pulled away with a laugh. “You have dog breath.”

“I-- yes. Sorry. I think living four years as a dog hasn’t done anything good for my hygiene.”

“...four?”

Glen looked at Shane’s stormy grey eyes-- how they questioned him-- and he sighed. “How about I explain as I try out that new atrocity of a tub you had built in?”

Shane laughed again-- a sound Glen hadn’t heard in what felt like an eternity-- before he said, “Hey, we both can fit in it at once-- I wouldn’t call that an atrocity.”

“Then perhaps you’ll bathe with me?” Glen asked holding himself back from simply kissing Shane again.

As they stood, Glen chanced a glance back into the forest where he saw the massive shape of a green dog made from vines. Against both Shane’s protest and those of his own body, Glen stood and faced the creature. It took a slow step forward, all three of its eyes watching him wearily.

Slowly, Glen pulled the no-longer-cursed ring off his neck and walked towards the dog-- holding it out. “I owe you my thanks. For everything.”

The third eye slowly closed as the dog bit the chain and turned, disappearing into the dark of the woods as it walked away. He knew that he’d have all the time in the world to explain that fairy dogs viewed time-- and how to help folks-- a little differently than humans. There would also be time to tell the stories that he barely remembered as he became the temporary guardian of the village and forgot his humanity up until the ring’s curse had become active. How he’d only held off the curse up until they took the enchanted rings from his fingers.

As he and Shane walked inside, he knew that he had _time_ \-- and that he was going to spend all of it that he could with the person he loved.

**Author's Note:**

> So... here we are. Over 50K words and several years of blood sweat and tears-- I cannot express how happy I am not only to be finished but to be finally sharing it with you. Thank you so dang much for sticking around all the way to the end. I hope you liked the ending as it was frankly the most difficult thing about this. Fun fact but I actually wrote three different endings and re-wrote the last section several times before I was happy. I actually had a very epic battle with the Beithir and brutally killing Horus from his own perspective planned but then I realized that I didn't want the fights to be the focus. I wanted to really focus on the relationship and the _feelings_ between the characters. I think if I ever go back and add more scenes between folks I might have some more gossip around town and develop the other background relationships further. That, however, likely won't happen for a long time. (if ever)
> 
> Of course BIIIIIG thanks to my spouse for putting up with me every time I would get stuck and pester him to help me with a brainstorming session. I might not have always taken his advice but I wouldn't have finished this if not for his encouragement and help. (and the coffee) (and the long discussions on how we each express emotion as guys from wildly different life backgrounds and experiences. lol There was a lot of self-reflection in this project.) 
> 
> Anyhow, that's enough chitchat from me-- it's time for me to go work on one of the other fics/original works that I have lingering on my harddrive. Thanks again for reading! ♥  
> (♥If you liked the story and feel like tossing me a kudos and a comment, I'd love to hear from you! Have a favorite part of the story? Let me know!♥)


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